


Traitor, Martyr, Spy

by Forlorn_Melody



Series: The Story of a Hero [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Burn Notice but in space, F/F, Mass Effect 3, meeting your girlfriend's ex is kinda awkward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:25:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forlorn_Melody/pseuds/Forlorn_Melody
Summary: Against all odds, Cerberus Spy Miranda Lawson and Alliance Marine Artemis Shepard have fallen in love. But Miranda is on the run and Artemis has turned herself in to Alliance custody--and the Reapers will arrive any second. Can these two defy all odds a second time?





	1. Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a few people asked me if there would be a sequel to About That Uniform. Well, here you go! I haven't written the whole thing yet, but I did try to give myself a head start. Hoping to update at least every other week. We'll see.

“Maybe we’ll see each other in prison.” Artemis smiles lazily up at her, worming her fingers between Miranda’s and squeezing. After a few cocktails in the Lounge, they’ve come back to Shepard’s cabin

“Not funny, Shepard.” Miranda feels a slight tug on her wrist. _Come back to bed_ , Artemis tells her with her touch, but Miranda can’t sleep. She’s sitting on the bed with the sheets crumpled up around her waist.

“We’ll figure something out.” Artemis finally relents, sitting up next to her so she can sling an arm around Miranda’s hip. She plants a soft kiss against her cheek.

Miranda wants to believe her, but. “You know the Reapers are coming. You _heard_ what that _indoctrinated_ scientist _said_ , Artemis.”

Artemis Shepard’s smile vanishes at the mention of her first name. She knows Miranda only mentions it when she’s feeling strongly about something. In this context, it means trouble. “If I knew another way, you know I’d take it.”

“Why does it have to be you? Why does it _always_ have to be you?”

“Miranda, listen.” Miranda looks down at her love, already tired of her reasoning, so done with her pleas. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

Miranda rubs her forehead, feeling a headache forming between her temples. “So says the woman who _died_.”

Artemis takes Miranda’s hand away, kissing it softly. “So says the woman who brought me back to _life_.”

“I did damn good work.” Miranda relents, allowing Artemis to pull her back to her side.

“You always do.” Artemis kisses her fervently, tracing her skin slowly, methodically, as if she’s committing her body to memory. And of course, Miranda enjoys their time together, but the fear still lurks at the back of her mind. Nothing this good can ever last. 

* * *

 

Vancouver should be among the last places Miranda visits while she’s on the run from her former employer, but she lands anyway. She uses a commercial space port far from the Alliance base and takes a cab instead of a private shuttle--easier to lose a tail. Using a fake ID, Miranda slips through security, wearing a blond wig and makeup that seemingly alters the contours of her face. Miranda settles at the back of the crowd, holding up binoculars as the Normandy lands. It seems half of the base showed up as extra security. _You shouldn’t be here, Miranda._

The docking arms clamp onto Shepard’s ship like a vice. Miranda feels the metallic clang deep in her gut, as if someone stabbed her. Joker hobbles out first, squinting as lightning tears through the sky. Rain dumps on the crowd, drenching their shoulders, backs, and chests, but no one seems to notice the weather as a shadow emerges from the Normandy.

Commander Artemis Shepard of the SSV Normandy, Alliance Military, steps out with her arms held up and her head held high. She walks slowly down the ramp and toward the military police with laser sites dotting all over her head and chest. Most people present would probably mistake her stony demeanor for pride or defiance--but Miranda’s learned to see through it. Now she sees the distance in Artemis’s gaze as she halts so the MPs can cuff her wrists. Shepard had been imprisoned in her own heart long before she surrendered to Alliance Custody.

After Shepard passes by--so achingly close yet so far away--Miranda sweeps the crowd with her binoculars. They come with scanning tech the former Cerberus Operative assembled after passing through security. She uses them to look for armed assailants--Hegemony sympathizers, black ops assailants--hell, even Cerberus agents here to cut a loose end. _All clear._ Miranda breathes a sigh relief. Maybe Alliance Security isn’t a joke after all. More than likely it’s her contacts doing their jobs. However, next to the door, Miranda Lawson does spot one familiar face. _Time to go._

* * *

 

The streets surrounding the base swarm with press and curious onlookers, so Miranda weaves her way through the crowds on foot. Ducking into the _Lions Pub_ , Miranda sits down in a booth with a glass of sangiovese--eyeing it like it’ll tell her what to do and where to go next. _You’re no good on your own._ The last voice she wanted to hear right now was her father’s.

“I know you.” Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams stands next to her table, looking down at Miranda with a burning stare. “You’re that Cerberus shill I saw on Horizon.”

Miranda goes to stand, but Ashley places a hand on hers to stop her. With a sigh, she sits back down across from the marine. “I don’t work for them anymore.” She throws a glance to the rest of the bar, looking to see if they gathered any unwanted attention. “And keep your voice down.”

“Why are you here?” Ashley sits with no drink in hand.

“Same reason you are.” Miranda eyes her from the table up. “You’re off duty, aren’t you? No reason to watch her arrest unless you wanted to”

Ashley’s eyes narrow further. “What I do is none of your business.” If smoke could come out of Ashley’s ears, it would. Miranda should feel attacked, if not threatened, and yet….

“It is if you threaten her. Or put her in danger.”

“You’re here to make sure she’s okay.” Ashley’s eyebrows scrunch together as she digests that information, and then they shoot straight up. “Wait. You’re... _with_ her?”

She’s good, Miranda will give her credit for that. Scrutinizing her glass of wine, imagines what Artemis would say if she was here. Probably make a face and try to hide it. Alcohol and her didn’t get along any more. “It’s...complicated.”

“Kind of hard to date someone who’s incarcerated.” Ashley says simply, sitting back, but keeping her eyes trained on her. “Speaking of--”

Miranda snorts. “You’re going to arrest me? Good luck with that.” She doesn’t hate Ashley, and she isn’t jealous of her history with Shepard. Alright. Maybe a little. The things she would do for a little more time with Artemis--if it wouldn’t jeopardize them both. However, Miranda isn’t fond of the “holier than thou” mentality so common with Alliance soldiers. As if they didn’t _also_ kill for money. As if they didn’t also do the wrong thing for the right reason. The only difference was who gave the orders. But Miranda had a feeling Ashley Williams wouldn’t see it that way.

“No.” Ashley rubs her face. For the first time, Miranda notices the dark shadows under the officer’s eyes. The gray hairs poking out of her hairline. “I thought you were here to kill her, actually.”

Miranda blinks. “What?” Oh, right. Former Cerberus Operative. “No. I don’t work for them anymore, remember?”

“So you say.”

“Pleasure meeting you, too.” Miranda can’t fault Ashley for her suspicions. Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night thinking she’s forgotten to file a report, only to remember she doesn’t have anyone to report _to_. But she should check in with her contacts. Shepard isn’t the only one she has to worry about anymore.

* * *

 

Miranda checks in with Ori before the relay jump. It’s the only time where she can’t be traced. She would kill (even literally) for a vid call, but her sister prefers instant messaging. _I think better in writing, Miri._

 

_Username: Oril_

_Username: Miral_

_OL is online_

_ML is online_

 

_15:29: OR: Hey sis. Long time no chat._

_15:29: ML: Hi. Sorry. Been occupied._

_15:30: OR: Saving the world and all that? The usual?_

_15:31: ML: Something like that. I miss you._

_15:35: OR: When are you coming back?_

_15:35:  ML: When it’s safe._

_15:35: OR: When is that?_

 

Miranda logs off, knowing she doesn’t have a good answer. The Reapers lie just outside their front door. And if preparing the galaxy for an invasion isn’t enough, she must hide from The Illusive Man. There are two people in the universe Miranda wants to see, and she can’t see either of them without risk. But she has to be strong. For both of them.

 


	2. Cloak and Dagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Artemis faces a tribunal on earth, Miranda has her own trials to deal with.

She lasts exactly two weeks before checking on Artemis through her contacts isn’t enough. Every sip of coffee suggests the way Shepard drank hers with cream and no sugar--the opposite of Miranda’s personal recipe. The cup rattles in Miranda’s hands. It doesn’t help that every news article on ANN seems to speculate on Shepard’s trial and the crimes she did or did not commit.

Showers remind Miranda of the way Artemis preferred her water colder--almost lukewarm regardless of the temperature in the room. Mindoir always had hot, muggy weather year-round. Miranda would find herself gracing bookstores, hunting for trashy romance novels Artemis would like. She’d never make a purchase. A package without a return address would raise so many red flags. And packages could always be traced. Folk music would play on the radio and Miranda would think of the country dances Artemis had tried to teach her.

Women walking down the streets of Nos Astra remind Miranda of her. Doesn’t matter if their hair or skin is a different color. They just need to walk the same way or have the same smile. Two weeks later Miranda hears a laugh that sounds _just_ like hers, and it stops her in her tracks.

_Bloody hell_.

That night Miranda boards a freight vessel heading to Earth--bland utility uniform and all.

It’s after the shuttle lands that Miranda curses her own mistake. What is she thinking? She can’t go anywhere _near_ Alliance HQ. Going once to see Shepard’s arrest was idiotic enough. A _second_ time? It won’t work. Especially now with the crawling feeling that someone’s following her.

Miranda settles for hacking into the security cameras. She knows well enough to scrub her trail after she leaves. To anyone else, watching Artemis pace back and forth in her detention room would be the dullest thing to watch. But to Miranda? It nearly brings her to tears. _She’s alive. She’s alright._

Soon enough checking in becomes a daily ritual. Miranda looks forward to those five minutes like she does her morning coffee. She makes sure to time it differently each day to avoid suspicion. The feeds have no audio, so Miranda’s left telling her own story of what’s happening on screen. Certainly not healthiest habit Miranda’s picked up, but she can’t help it. Vega’s no threat--Miranda scrutinized his service record and his social media accounts. James Vega is practically Commander Shepard’s biggest fan aside from Conrad Verner. And while he sports an impressive set of muscles--he’s not Artemis’s type. The relief guard, however.

Sergeant Jessica Steinburg. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. 170 cm. Wears lipstick that may or may not be up to regulation. Has dated mostly women in her past. Friendly. Upbeat. Almost a younger version of--

_Stop_.

Artemis has no time or emotional strength to even think about romance. Of course. But it’s been so long. Two weeks feels like forever without Artemis’s silken waves slipping through Miranda’s fingers, or her lips on her skin. _If you feel so awful, running free--imagine how_ she _feels_. Miranda would want Artemis to have that physical comfort, wouldn’t she? And yet….

Miranda resolves to pour that energy into gathering evidence for Shepard’s lawyer. Transcriptions of Shepard’s conversations with the Illusive Man, her medical files establishing her identity, even Hackett’s arrival on the Normandy. When Shepard’s lawyer neglects to use the latter in her proceedings Miranda shatters her coffee mug against the wall. Purchasing a new mug, Miranda contacts Joker and Chakwas and persuades them to testify. Their word will have to be enough. But even they don’t implicate Hackett in Aratoht. Artemis, the martyr that she is, must have told them to keep quiet.

Doesn’t Artemis know that the longer this trial drags on, the longer it will take the Alliance to ready themselves for war? Doesn’t she realize they’re running out of time?

* * *

 

 

After meeting with a contact in Afterlife, Miranda heads back to one of the less trafficked areas of Omega. She heads in an apartment abandoned in the plague and shuts the door behind her. As she turns to remove her boots, the lights flick off.

“Long time no see.” He says smugly from somewhere behind her.

_No_.

Miranda says nothing, too busy listening for what little noise Kai Leng will make.

“Miss me, Lawson?” His voice is suddenly right behind her ear, his breath ghosting on her skin. How--?

_Keep him talking. You won’t hear him otherwise._ “Like a cat misses fleas.” Biotics will do her no good--their blue light will be anything but stealthy. “Why are you here?”

Miranda can hear his eyes rolling. “Always work and no play, weren’t you, Lawson?” Leng steps back, but Miranda knows that means nothing. He could cross the space and stab her before she could finish saying his name. Tossing a projection sphere into the air, Leng smirks into the light flickering across his face.

Out pops a projection of Miranda’s former employer. Well, she assumes she’s been fired. Neither of them has bothered to communicate since Miranda gave her verbal notice on the Collector Ship. The Illusive Man takes a puff of his cigarette, blowing out smoke as he takes her in. “I wish I could attend this meeting personally, Miss Lawson. But I’m afraid I more important work to do.”

“Get on with it.” Kai Leng moves as silently as an owl hunting a mouse, keeping his gaze trained on her. But Miranda is no mouse.

“It has been a pleasure working with you, but I need to contain the situation.”

The Illusive Man always had a flair for the dramatic. Assassinating the Pope when he got in the way of humanity’s progress. Bringing a war hero back from the dead and parading her all over the galaxy. Feeding Ashley William leads on Artemis’s association with Cerberus and ensuring they’d meet on Horizon so he could watch Commander Shepard’s last tie to the Alliance snap in her face.

But Miranda is done playing the parts the Illusive Man assigned her. She doesn’t respond to the projection, instead she activates her omni-tool behind her back. The lock on the door snaps and sizzles and the scent of burnt rubber fills the room.

“You’re not getting away that easily.” Kai Leng whips out his sword and charges toward her.

“Try me.” Miranda doesn’t bother shooting her biotics directly at him. Kai Leng’s too agile for brute force. So she pulls the desk chair, the couch, and the lamp toward him instead. _Maneuver out of_ that, she thinks to herself as slips through the empty space the furniture left behind. She overloads the fire alarm, sending all the sprinklers in the hallway pouring with water, and sirens to cover up the sounds of her footsteps. She even starts a small fire in one of the trash bins to fill the hallway with smoke.

Miranda doesn’t look back as she finds a shuttle at the docks. She wires some credits and books a voyage out of the sector, away from her former employer and her replacement. Ori’s probably fine, but Miranda can’t help but check in on her. Based on the time, her sister is probably at school, so Miranda peeks at the security feeds to make sure she’s okay. One day, when this is all finally over, Miranda will finally tell her about all the things she did to keep her safe. Today? Today Ori won’t understand, so Miranda protects her quietly, from the shadows, without thanks.

Ori’s sitting in class, her chin leaning on her hand. Is she bored? No. She’d be tapping her pencil against the desk if she was. Instead, Ori’s taking notes. Miranda zooms in. No. She’s doodling in her notebook. While Miranda should probably be disappointed or upset, she can’t help but smile to herself. Her sister has such a creative mind, more so than Miranda ever did. Most importantly, Ori’s safe, unlike Miranda.

_You knew this day would come._ Miranda won’t go quietly. She won’t kneel in defeat. Even if she spends the next year without rest--Miranda will do what she must--for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter has smut. :D Please comment if you have the time. I love hearing your thoughts.


	3. So Far, So Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reapers are finally here, and Miranda would do anything to help Shepard, but she has far more personal things to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a bit of smut in it. You've been warned.

The moment Arcturus Station blows up, Miranda knows about it. She has contacts spread throughout the galaxy, near every relay--in case someone, or in this case _something_ shows up to threaten those she loves. Miranda calculates how long it’ll take the Reapers to reach Earth, and Elysium, where Oriana’s family is hiding. Not long. Always Miranda has stayed calm even in the worst circumstances--even when she was certain she was walking into a suicide mission. Any moment she dared to doubt herself, she only proved her father right. But now Miranda feels nearly powerless to protect her loved ones.

What can she do against a thousand-foot-tall god? What can anyone do? Miranda is used to human targets, or at least, smaller targets. How does one fool a reaper? How does one foil their destruction? It’s selfish. It’s not what Artemis or Oriana would want, but Miranda focuses her limited resources on keeping them safe. She sabotages Cerberus shuttles heading toward Mars. While Miranda can’t take care of all of them, she can stop a few. Hopefully it’s enough. _Artemis has been through worse, Miranda. Get a hold of yourself._

Her fingers rattle her coffee mug when she tries to take a drink. The cup slips from her hand and falls to the floor, but nothing spills out. Apparently, she forgot to refill it the last time she took a drink. How long has it been since she slept? Since she ate?  Miranda’s kitchen stands empty, save for a box of protein bars. Munching on one, she sends in orders to move Ori and her parents to a new home. It’s a risk, but so is leaving them one system closer to the invasion.

Hours later, and the Normandy leaves Mars safe and sound--though Miranda discovers a med evac request on enroute to the Citadel. Her heart throbs in her chest as she skims the request for names, and sags with relief when she sees Ashley Williams name there instead of Artemis Shepard. Nausea fills her stomach as she looks over Doctor Chawkwa’s preliminary report. She just saw Ashley a few months ago. Ashley was alive, and... mostly well. Likely just as stressed over Shepard’s trial as Miranda was. And now she has a concussion, internal bleeding, and likely more. Despite their past, despite Ashley’s past with Shepard, Miranda can’t help but feel a loss. Artemis must be reeling. Miranda finds herself debating the morality of hacking into Artemis’s omni-tool to check her vital signs.

Ori would have a fit.

_I need you to trust me. Trust that I’m just as capable as you of taking care of myself. Trust that I can protect myself. I’m 19 years old for crying out loud!_

Oh, to be that young and brave. Miranda envies her all the time, despite being largely responsible for her normal life. But her sister is right. She needs to trust them both. Artemis can take care of herself. So can Oriana.

But it wouldn’t hurt to check up on her sister.

Miranda sips a fresh cup of coffee and logs into the security feeds of her sister’s home. Or, at least, she tries to. The screens are all black, and when she checks the logs, she finds an error message. Taking a deep breath, she contacts an old associate that she had moved in across the hall. Cal always responded within five minutes--Miranda had timed him. She waits 10 minutes before she allows herself to panic.

_It’s probably nothing._

Ten minutes pass and nothing is exactly the response Miranda receives. She calls again. And again, without waiting. Miranda calls her other contact, and nothing. She checks the school Ori attends, and damn them--they don’t keep attendance records. Taking a shuttle to the Citadel, Miranda checks the security logs for the classes Ori should have been in the past few days. Nothing. The university Ori attends stretches nearly over an entire city. There isn’t time for Miranda to search it on her own.

Shepard would help. But Shepard has her own problems to deal with. An ex in critical condition in the hospital, a war to fight--there’s even reports that Shepard has more favors to do before she can get Turian support. As much as Shepard would want to help--she won’t be able to jaunt across the galaxy--and she likely would try. Miranda can’t ask her to sacrifice the war effort.

But Miranda can pay her a visit. If she can hardly focus because of their time apart, how must Artemis feel? While Miranda could say she’s visiting Shepard because she knows it’ll boost her morale--she must admit it’s for more...selfish reasons. As the shuttle lands, Miranda’s mind and body thrum as if her lover sits in the seat next to her. To hold Artemis close, wind her fingers through her silken hair, inspect every mark the war and Cerberus drones have left behind--

Her mind spins so quickly that when Miranda does finally spot her, walking through the docking security, she almost doesn’t recognize her. The Artemis in Miranda’s mind is happy, full of vigor, a self-satisfied smirk on her face not unlike the one she wears when she invites Miranda to bed. This Artemis has dark bags under her eyes like she hasn’t slept since Earth, and skin that hasn’t seen the sun in weeks.

“Miranda?” Artemis says her name softly from behind her, making Miranda jump inside her skin. She had _just_ sent that message an hour ago. Hardly enough time for Shepard to make it here, unless this was her first stop. Her voice is thick and her eyes sluggish as she looks Miranda over like she’s stuck in the same recurring dream.

“Shepard!” Coyness has always been Miranda’s default with romantic partners, but then before, she’d never seen the same person twice. She must sound like a lovesick puppy right about now. “It’s so good to finally see you.” Miranda steps closer, close enough to touch.

Artemis steps back, rubbing her shoulder. “You too, Miranda.”

Not the reunion she dreamed of, but Miranda will take whatever she’s offered. She starts walking down the corridor, Artemis picking up speed to walk with her. They never hold hands but their fingers brush against each other as they talk.

“Glad to see they let you out.” Miranda passes it off like a joke.

“Had to. Who else would fight their goddamn war?”

They talk about Earth, and Artemis’s eyes go distant as she recalls all the lives she saw snuffed out. Artemis shakes the fog out of her brain, glancing back at her. “What about you? Why are you here?” She looks worried.

Miranda stops in an alcove away from the security cameras’ prying eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Shepard.” Sure, the Citadel seems like one of the worst places a former Cerberus operative should linger, but Miranda has made a career of hiding in plain sight. Not to mention Kai Leng and his ilk will have a harder time taking her out here, and she won’t go quietly. The Illusive Man would never let them heighten security here. Too many wasted opportunities.

Artemis’s eyes widen, realizing how she must sound. “I know. Sorry. I... I just have a lot on my plate.”

“When don’t you?” Miranda dares to reach over and squeeze her hand, and goosebumps race up Artemis’s arms. “I know you have a plan.”

Squeezing her hands, Shepard nods, but she doesn’t elaborate much. Is she keeping it from her on purpose? Have they really been apart that long?

“Am I part of your plan?”

Artemis squeezes her hand fiercely. “Always!”

Miranda presses a finger against her lips. “Shh. You don’t want the whole docking bay hearing us, do you?”

Artemis eyes her like a desert traveler who’s just discovered an oasis. Her words crack as they fall from her mouth. “I want you in my life, Miranda.” She kisses Miranda’s finger as if to illustrate her point, squeezing her wrist with her other hand for good measure.

“You sure?” Miranda leans closer, slipping her free hand around Shepard’s waist. “This is your chance to back out.” She doesn’t hold on, meaning every one of her words, as much as she doesn’t want to. She won’t grip onto people like her father did.

Pulling her against her chest, Artemis answers her with a kiss. Their lips crash against one another, their hands tangled in each other’s hair. Who cares about being discreet? There’s a war on, and who knows if Miranda will ever see Artemis again. It pains her to think about it--she even holds Shepard a little tighter at the thought--but she must be realistic. Accept all possibilities, no matter how much they hurt. Pressing Shepard against the glass wall, she trails her hands down her body, feeling for when she flinches. And yes, she does more than once, but more often her breath catches in her throat, and she tightens her grip. Just when Miranda’s about to lose her carefully held control, Artemis parts for air.

“Don’t be stranger, Miranda.” Artemis tells her with a grin, her lips bruised, and her breath ragged.

“I don’t want to be, Shepard. Believe me, I want to stay close.” She steps back. “It’s my sister. Something’s happened.” Usually Miranda’s so eloquent--something drilled into her by her father, but now she stumbles over her words as she explains. “I just know my father’s involved.”

“What do you need me to do?” She asks without hesitation, reaching her hand as if to whisk her away from all this.

Miranda can so easily imagine Shepard charging into Oriana’s home--her campus, even, gun in hand-finger on the trigger. As much as Miranda wants her to help--she knows Artemis isn’t one for cloak and dagger--she’ll only complicate things. And she has enough to deal with already. “I’ll be fine.”

Artemis looks unconvinced. “Okay.” She holds her arm, as if punched. “I understand.”

Miranda reaches over, squeezing Artemis’s hands together. “I was tempted to break in and see you.”

Quirking her head, Artemis scrutinizes her expression. “Wait. You didn’t.”

Unable to help her grin, Miranda replies. “Define ‘do.’”

Artemis shakes her head. “There’s no way you would’ve made it through security.” Then her voice drops low. “You’re a _wanted_ woman, Miranda.”

Miranda lets a hand wander past Artemis’s lower back, never quite squeezing, but enough to feel that unbearably toned arse of hers. Mm. Maybe not as toned as it _used_ to be. “I’m well, aware.”

Her breath quickens as her lips part. “When--?”

She can still feel the Vancouver rain soaking her skin. Miranda leans her forehead against hers, almost whispering. “The day they put you in cuffs.” And now every centimeter of space between them is too much--not even in a sexual way. It’s just been so long--Miranda needs to feel her Artemis close against her so she doesn’t get pulled from her orbit.

“Jesus. You have a death wish.” Her eyes slip closed as Miranda brushes her nose against hers.

“Mm. Death isn’t what I want right now.” Artemis’s skin warms against Miranda’s fingertips.

“Miranda,” she sputters, “Out here? Really? Aren’t we a little exposed?”

“The Citadel’s actually one of the safest places. For now.”

“I’m still not sure meeting out _here_ where everyone can see is a good idea.” Her lips are still dark from when Miranda ravaged them, even as she looks away.

Miranda draws her attention back with her finger hooked under her chin. “Is it me you’re worried about?” She lets her voice drop low. “Or are you worried about getting caught with your pants down?”

Artemis flushes a helpless smile. “Maybe a bit of both. Do you have a place in mind?”

“Follow me.”

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

They wind up in an office closed for remodeling, donning utility uniform costumes from some forgotten holiday. Once they’re inside a room away from the dust, Miranda pushes Artemis down into a rolling chair, kicking it back until it bumps against the desk. “God, that uniform looks awful on you."

“Mm. That sounds like a problem.” Artemis looks up at her with the dim lights dancing in her eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I can think of a few things.” Miranda straddles her lap, guiding Artemis’s fingers to each button on her jumper. She undoes them meticulously, one by one, letting her knuckles drag down the curves of Miranda’s chest, her lips parted ever so slightly. When Artemis’s breath quickens, Miranda feels it against her skin, and her lover grins as she notices the goosebumps dotting her breasts.

As she reaches the button sitting above Miranda’s crotch, Artemis digs her knuckles extra hard until her breath catches. She licks her own lips, slipping her hands around to the back of Miranda’s head, pulling her into a kiss. “I’ve missed you so much, Miranda,” she whispers into her lips after they’ve broken for air.

“I’ve missed you, too.” It surprises her to say it, but it’s true. Miranda undoes her carefully pinned bun, weaving her hands into her silken chocolate tresses.

“You could’ve had anyone. _Anyone_.” Artemis looks up at her with wonder as she unhooks her bra. “Why wait for me?”

“You’re different.” Maybe she says it too quickly, swallowing as Artemis retraces the skin laid bare. Why? She knows Miranda’s body’s immune to the ravages of space and time. Nothing has changed.

Ah. There it is. Under Artemis’s fierce Amazon exterior lies her true feelings--eyes that dart and fingers that tremble. Her mouth moves, but no words spill out, but Miranda can see it written all over her face. “Am I?”

Miranda kisses her nose. “You are the bravest person I’ve ever known.” Her lips graze her left cheek. “You have the whole galaxy resting on your shoulders.” Her right ear. “And yet you put everything on hold to show me how much you missed me.” Her right neck, drinking in her moan. Ah yes. Artemis is sensitive there. “And you gave me a chance when you had every reason to hate me.”

Artemis’s eyes don’t open when she answers. “I never hated you.” Another moan slips out when Miranda’s teeth graze her skin. “I hated Cerberus.” Her voice comes out jagged.

“I _worked_ for Cerberus.” Miranda debates where to go from here. She could scoot Artemis to the edge of the chair, and _really_ take her time with her, but time is not a luxury they have. Not in a construction zone with fake uniforms.

“So did I.”

Miranda answers her with a kiss, slowly grinding her pelvis against hers. Maybe it’s a little cliché or maybe she’s watched too many porn vids while Artemis was in prison, but she can’t help her curiosity. It feels nicer than either of them would expect. “Mm.”

“Y-yeah.” Artemis replies, exploring her mouth with her tongue as they pick up speed. Miranda feels a moan slip out of her mouth as her girlfriend pulls her closer and tighter. She manages to drown her moans into her shoulder until they both still.

Stretching her arms, Miranda gulps when Artemis pulls her back. “I’m not done with you yet,” she murmurs into Miranda’s ears, brushing her lips there until she shivers and swallows. Artemis trails one set of fingers down between Miranda’s breasts, while the other cups her ass, squeezing when she starts to squirm. “You’re--” she almost says beautiful, Miranda can see it on her lips, but she knows better--knows that’s a loaded word with her, even during sex. Her eyes widen when she can’t find a better word, and her mouth twists and turns without a sound falling out.

“Shh.” Miranda captures her mouth with her own, letting their touch speak for them. Mirroring Artemis’s fingers with her own, she finds her so exquisitely wet it makes her mouth water.

“Miranda, I--” she can’t finish her sentence, not like this, not when Miranda’s fingers are dancing across her clit. “Fuck,” she says helplessly, her eyes squeezing shut and her mouth falling open. A moan punctuates her sentence as her hips lift them both above the seat of the chair.

Putting her feet on the floor for balance, Miranda holds Artemis in place with her hand on the back of the chair. “I love it when you’re like this.” Her finger slips inside her cunt like melted butter, and Artemis’s head tips back. Warmth rushes over Miranda as she feels Artemis pulsing around her fingers.

Her chair rolls back and forth to the rhythm of her hips. Her eyes open just enough. “I love you too.”

Miranda’s jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Still breathlessly in bliss, it takes Artemis a moment to register the shock on her girlfriend’s face. She licks her lips. “Too soon?” Artemis tries to smile sheepishly, but her eyebrows furrow with worry.

It’s then Miranda remembers where her fingers are. “You love me?”

Artemis shudders as she pulls out. “Nn. Y-yeah.” She sobers quickly, sitting up. “Miranda, I….”

_Bloody hell, Miranda. You’re ruining everything._ “Sorry,” is the only thing she can think to say. It’s not what she _wants_ to say.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Artemis says abruptly. She stares pointedly at the lone freckle on her right shoulder. Her father always hated that freckle. Said it was skin damage. Her skin wasn’t supposed to get damaged. Perhaps that’s why he replaced her with Ori.

“I’m not very good at this.” Miranda mumbles. She’s shaking. Why is she shaking?

Artemis coughs. “Liar. You are _amazing_ at sex. Your pillow talk, though.” She smirks, though her eyes still search her face.

“Har, har.” Miranda does the only thing that makes sense in this moment--pinning Artemis back into the chair with a searing kiss. “It’s not you.”

“Miranda…”

“I mean it. And I _want_ to mean it when I say it.” Another kiss aimed at her throat. “Not just return the words to make someone feel better.”

“I get it.” She doesn’t. But that doesn’t stop her from reciprocating Miranda’s touch. Artemis bites her neck to catch her attention, and Miranda can’t help her ragged gasp.

Her free hand just barely grazes the inside of Miranda’s thigh, never quite touching where she wants. “Arti--”

This time Artemis’s grin is real. “Mm?” She hums into her skin, rubbing deeper into her skin, but never touching her center.

“Goddamnit, Artemis.”

“Shh. Let me take care of _you_ for once.” Artemis _finally_ reaches Miranda’s clit, circling and rubbing with a featherlight touch. This time, Miranda has no reply, clinging to Artemis as her body shudders in ecstasy. The room around them vanishes--she can’t even feel the rub of her uniform anymore. It’s just her and Artemis--the salt of their sweat, and the sound of their heavy breathing mixed with the slick of her fingertips against her skin. For once, she can forget the war, and her worries, and maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.

Telling Artemis she loves her is a whole different story. “Thank you,” Miranda whispers breathlessly.

“Any time.” Artemis licks her fingers cheekily, stretching once Miranda pulls off her.

“I don’t want to leave.” Miranda buttons up her utility uniform, though she can’t take her eyes off her, so she keeps missing a hole, or three.

“Me either.” Artemis ignores her suit for now, focusing on putting up her hair. Her lips are still bruised from when Miranda kissed her last. “You sure we can’t stay a little longer?” The skin around her throat still flushes with heat.

“It’s not wise for me to stay in one place too long.”

Her skin cools as she sobers. “The Illusive Man. Is he after you?”

Miranda nods, telling her about her run-in with Kai Leng. Artemis’s brows furrow as she listens.

 “Sounds final.” She traces her finger down Miranda’s cheek, looking for any signs of distress, scars, or bruises. Miranda’s stupidly perfect body hides it all. Just like it did when her father--

 “It nearly was.” She can’t allow herself to think about him right now. She can’t break down now, especially not in front of Artemis. “He doesn’t take rejection well.”

Artemis snorts, gingerly poking her skin in what’s likely a bruise from Mars. “No, he doesn’t.” She glances back at Miranda, narrowing her eyes. “How are you sure it’s not _him_ going after Oriana?”

“I won’t know anything until I track down some leads.”

“ _Here_?”

“Hey. I’m owed a few favors.”

Artemis matches her grin, only to groan when her omni-tool chimes at her. She sighs as she pulls back. “I gotta get going. Be careful, okay?”

Miranda leans forward, pecking her cheek. “No promises.”

Taking a few steps towards the elevator, Shepard murmurs. “EDI says next time you want to tap into the Normandy’s systems, just ask nicely.”


	4. What They Don't Know Will Kill Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda gathers information from her contacts about Oriana's disappearance. Each step she takes brings her closer to her past, and closer to danger.

With her liaison with Artemis out of the way, Miranda hopes she can focus more on the task at hand. She’s already dallied too long, and Oriana may already be out of her reach. But she must keep looking.

Her first contact meets her in a public restroom, tucked away from security cameras and C-Sec’s purview. Not everyone wants their whereabouts noticed by law enforcement. Miranda closes the bathroom stall behind her, locks it, and knocks on the wall three times. The person on the other side knocks twice in reply. _Good_. An imposter would imitate the number of knocks exactly.

Neither of them speaks, in case the room has been bugged. And they turn their omni-tools off in turn. Sometimes the best way to avoid an enemy interception to exchange their information on paper. An expensive act with so many of the galaxy’s forests protected by Council Law, but no one can hack paper.

Miranda has never been fond of contamination, though her immune system will fight off nearly anything without a single symptom--likely her father’s work. She just can’t stand the thought of sullying her tailored uniform, let alone her skin. The thought of sitting on a toilet makes her want to vomit, so Miranda squats instead, and reaches under the door for the slip of paper.

Synthetic gloves brush against hers, and Miranda reads a slip the size of a cookie fortune. The front has a date--the date Oriana was taken. The back has a name--her father’s. Before Miranda can ask why or where--her contact slams the door open and walks out of the restroom without washing their hands.

* * *

 

That night Miranda dreams of her father’s estate. The postmodern mansion nestled in Bellevue Hill had spaces most humans only dreamed off. Three floors, tennis courts, climbing walls, a heated mosaic swimming pool and _alfresco_ patio just outside the home theater and library. Views of Sydney Harbour on the outside and crisp, clean black, white, and gold interiors within. Henry Lawson’s first floor served as yet another entertainment space with a grand open floor plan, carport, formal and informal living spaces with plush cushions and well-lit interiors. His second floor had a master suite, and three additional bedrooms. Miranda would have preferred to keep her bedroom as far from possible from her father, but he insisted she sleep in the room closest to the guest bathroom. So he could show her off to his guests, most likely. Her father always did enjoy parading her around like some sort of trophy.

That was what their guests saw. Henry never offered to show them where the car-sized elevator descended after they left. They assumed Henry Lawson had a private collection of luxury cars and didn’t care to reveal them to would-be gossipers and thieves. Or perhaps he stored proprietary information and projects down there. Surely all would come to light at the right time. Growing up, even Miranda wasn’t to take the vehicle elevator. The first time she tried--her father locked her in his walk-in closet for three days. The second time--when she had successfully moved from the ground floor to the basement only to be caught before she could open the doors--he forced her hand upon the stovetop burners until her skin had burned black. Much to his satisfaction, her skin healed within a week. It was then she started wearing black gloves to cover the bandages.

Miranda knows immediately where she has ended up in this nightmare. It’s the storage room--the room she finally breached on her third attempt. Goosebumps race down her skin and won’t go away no matter how much she tries to rub them off. Her legs carry her on auto pilot, and Miranda feels like a prisoner in her own skin. Glass vats lined the concrete, windowless walls, carrying humanoid shapes in various stages of development--from embryos to newborn. One vat, in the corner, has a form that matches her baby pictures. Ice shoots down Miranda’s spine.

She reads through his journal entries and listens to his audio logs. Miranda is Sample 37--Henry Lawson’s most successful attempt at creating a daughter. He had always told her mother had died in childbirth. Here she learns she has no mother--only cloned tissue with altered chromosomes. Some of Henry’s earlier attempts included sons--but he quickly decided girls were easier to influence and mold into his image. But what happened to her brothers and sisters?

_The Illusive Man always welcomes additional specimens. He most highly prizes those with biotic abilities--paying double for those with the genetic markers. Perhaps he wants to fashion and train his own biotic army._

Henry must have loved the idea--an entire army of biotic soldiers who resemble his best features. It made Miranda want to throw up.

_Miranda shows so much promise, but she asks too many questions. I will not be repeating the incident with Sample 25. As soon as Sample 38 is ready I will give the Illusive Man a call. I think I will call her Ariel._

“Miri? What are you doing down here?”

Jerking around, Miranda closes the Haptic Adaptive Interface behind her. Nicket looks at her wide-eyed, his face quickly turning green at the site of all the vats around him. “I need your help.”

* * *

 

Miranda wakes up in a cold sweat, still hearing the hum of her father’s machines in her ears as she takes a shower. Even the water can’t wash off the slimy feeling of the fluid behind the glass. It’s as if she’s still trapped in one of those vats herself. _I won’t let you him hurt you, Ori. I promise._

Her next contact agrees to meet with Miranda during an upcoming Hanar Enkindlers Rally. It seems an odd time to be hosting a religious event, but then again, perhaps not. With the Reapers destroying the known universe, perhaps some of Hanar are looking for answers in their ancestral religions. Miranda never considered herself particularly spiritual. The only religion her father raised in her is one of wealth and influence--like prosperity gospel and eugenics had an incestuous child.

And then there’s the surprise arrival of a real-live Prothean to the Citadel. Of course, Artemis is involved, why wouldn’t she be? Her Asari archeologist friend, Liara T’soni, must be over the moon.

Mixing in with the crowd, Miranda makes a move to activate the biolumincent translators in her ears, but she really activates a private communication channel instead. The Hanar light up in a gorgeous cascade of colors as the rally begins, and her contact steps up beside her, keeping her eyes forward to the stage. A once infamous Hanar preacher takes the stage as Miranda’s contact pings her coms.

 _He’s really moved up in the world, hasn’t he?_ Her contact’s mouth never opens. Instead, she ‘speaks’ by typing out a message on her thighs. Instantaneously cybernetic pads in her fingers relay the message to both their comms.

Miranda eyes the stage--a ceiling high banner displays what must be a photograph of the recently awakened Prothean. Though she’s never studied the facial expressions of that ancient race, she can’t help but think he looks unimpressed with the photographer. _He sure has._ The fearful masses must be funding this Hanar preacher’s rally--where else would he have secured the funds? _How is my father? Is he well?_

They don’t dare speak plainly. Hanar bioluminescence, when propagated in high numbers, does produce a sort of digital interference against most prying eyes and ears--especially those over long distances. But there’s still a chance someone else in the crowd will be trying to listen in.

_More than well, I hear he landed a new project with his old friend Tim._

Alarms ring in Miranda’s mind so loudly she swears the Hanar surrounding them can hear. _I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?_ Her father disavowed Cerberus after The Illusive Man took her in and refused to give her up. He was one of Cerberus’s largest supporters, and took some time (and a few assassinations) for the Illusive Man to replenish his resources.

_Your father is working for Tim._

Before Miranda can argue, her contact has disappeared through the waves glowing tentacles. Miranda is about to go looking for them when the Hanar next to her suddenly goes dark. Their levitation pack still functions, and so the Hanar goes on floating, but its pink color quickly fades to gray. It happens so suddenly Miranda forgets to turn her translator back on. Instead of screams, she sees each of the surrounding members of the crowd flash red and black as they flee from the corpse.

_Assassin._

Miranda heard no shot fired, nor impact of a bullet or laser. The dead hangar didn’t move, as if hit by a blast.

_Stab wound?_

No. No strangulation marks either.

She recalls the warning signs on the beaches back home. _MARINE STINGERS ARE PRESENT IN THESE WATERS DURING SUMMER MONTHS._ The first aid stations providing vinegar. Miranda scans the body and finds stingers lodged in the Hanar’s skin.

A rare Hanar assassin and Miranda is surrounded by suspects.

She can’t stay on the Citadel, not anymore. Running to the elevator she scans security feeds of her apartment to confirm what she already knows--someone has turned it upside down looking for her. Too bad for them--she never leaves anything behind.

It’s only later Miranda remembers that back on Earth--jellyfish never sting their own species. She hacks into the database of the nearest morgue and finds what she already suspects--the venom came from a Terran jellyfish, delivered with stingers made of steel, not flesh. A chill runs down her spine when she spots the scientific name: _chironex fleckeri._ It couldn’t be any sort of jellyfish venom, no. Whoever the assassin was--they chose the species from the shores of Sydney. Someone is trying to send her a message.

 _Too bad for them--I’m not listening._ Not to Cerberus. Not to her father. Not to anyone.

* * *

 

Just after Miranda lands on Illium, all of Miranda’s contacts on the Citadel go dark. Reapers? No. Their access to the galaxy’s political center was cut off when Shepard battled Saren. That left Miranda only one possibility. Only one party who would have the interest _and_ the resources to take over the Citadel to quickly and easily, with no warning.

 _Cerberus_.

Which meant Ori wasn’t there when it happened. Their father would never allow Ori that close to danger. Would he?

And Shepard was still on Tuchanka. Miranda had been following Artemis’s exploits on that barren, irradiated planet. On a lark, she looks up for Alliance News updates, and her heart plummets to her stomach.

_Genophage Cured. Normandy Departs Arlak System and Krogan DMZ._

Her heart thunders inside her ribcage. _Please not the Citadel. Please._ Miranda hacks into Alliance Space Traffic Control, and finds the Normandy docked at the Citadel.

 _Artemis_. With every comm dark, Miranda can’t even log into C-Sec’s cameras. It’s worse than when Artemis was under house arrest.

After several agonizing hours, Miranda’s contacts check in, or at least, some do. Shepard is alive. Thane Krios is in critical condition. Councilor Udina is dead, as he should be. _Bastard._

Miranda sends Shepard a message, telling her to meet her on the Citadel. But she has no intention of going in person. Instead she hacks into Alliance QEC. Surely Shepard will understand.

QEC’s are hard to come by, especially in war, so Miranda finds one in an Illium high rise, belonging to a board member who serves as a de facto politician. The board member should have gone home for the day, leaving her office, and her Quantum Entanglement Communicator available for use.

The QEC shimmers as Artemis materializes in its hologram. She hasn’t showered--still covered in soot, dirt, bruises, and cuts. But she’s standing. And she’s breathing. Miranda lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Thank God you’re alright.”

Artemis glowers at her in blue. “I’m _fine._ ” Her eyes are puffy and would probably be red from crying if the QEC didn’t blue tint everything coming through its feeds.

“Artemis--”

“Miranda. You _told_ me you’d meet me _here._ You _lied_.”

“The Citadel isn’t safe.”

“I know that, Miri,” Artemis spits. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just fended off a fucking _coup._ ”

Artemis never swears, except in cases of high emotion. Sometimes Miranda wonders if she does it on purpose so that her expletives carry more punch when she finally uses them. Miranda feels a jolt in her gut.

Before she can even open her mouth, Artemis continues. “You could have _died,_ Miranda. And I wouldn’t know until I got here.”

“I _want_ to be there, in person, but I can’t. Someone already tried to assassinate me.”

Artemis’s eyes widen, and her shoulders sag. “Kai Leng?”

“What?”

“He tried to take out Councilor Valern.”

Miranda recalls the flames she trapped him in. The stench of burning flesh. Leng’s scream loud, then gradually muffled as she flees the scene. “That slippery bastard’s still alive?”

Artemis nods, and Miranda swears under her breath. “That complicates things. I’ll be on my guard.”

Her love continues to soften, unwilling to part in anger. “Miri. Be careful.”

If only. They both know nothing cared for is safe in war. “I can’t promise that. Could you?”

Artemis closes her eyes, and it’s hard to tell through the flickering projection, but Miranda swears she sees a glimmer of a tear. She hasn’t seen her cry since Aratoht. “Artemis, we’ll get through this.”

Her gaze hardens as she snaps back. “You can’t promise that either.”

“I know.” _I wish I could._ They talk about Ori, and Miranda tells her what she knows, which isn’t much. Artemis bristles at the mention of Cerberus, especially at the mention of Miranda’s father, but she doesn’t insist on helping. Maybe she trusts Miranda to take care of herself. Or perhaps, she’s tired of playing cat and mouse.

“I love you,” Miranda says, and she hears footsteps outside.

“Huh? Who’s in there?” the guard calls out, flashing a light inside the dark office Miranda’s borrowing.

“I’ve got to go.” Miranda closes the QEC before Artemis can reply.

* * *

 

Miranda knows when Oriana was taken, and who likely is involved, but where did they take her? Henry Lawson’s home stands only as a pile of rubble after the Reapers touched down. Where would that monster go after his original lair was destroyed? If he was working with the Illusive Man…. 

She wakes up several hours later, with her desk as her pillow, and her Haptic Adaptive Interface glowing into her eyeballs. Looking at the screen, Miranda searches for meaning in the jumble of letters across her screen, but the words might as well be written in Prothean. _You’re no use to Oriana like this_.

After showering, Miranda meanders through the stock exchange of Nos Astra, listening to everything and nothing while she tries to decide what to eat. One Asari is complaining about her boss, another is ranting about her partner, a volus insists on buying an attachment that clearly isn’t designed for their physiology. Miranda’s stomach growls. _Do Asari make sushi? They_ are _known for their seafood._ Opening her omni tool, Miranda hears an advertisement blaring from a nearby terminal.

 _“If you’re not sure where to go, come to Sanctuary. We’ll keep you safe.”_ Maybe blaring is the wrong word. The words flow more like a soft whisper. Calming. Soothing. Beckoning. Just as the advertisement switches to the next slot, Miranda waves her omni-tool for more information, and a chill runs down her spine.

At first glance, Sanctuary seems innocuous enough, necessary even. A sort of refugee camp in the partially abandoned colony of Horizon. Miranda calls the information number and listens to the automated message.

 _Welcome to your new home,_ the voice over drips into her ears like honeyed wine. _Sanctuary accepts one and all, providing safety and comfort to those who have lost their homes. We use state of the art technology to protect you and your loved ones. Let us be your Sanctuary._

It sounds less like a refugee camp, and more like a luxury resort.

As Miranda listens, she continues scrolling through Sanctuary’s Extranet site. She has no reason to suspect her father in this, and yet everything seems to have his fingerprints on it. The clean, crisp aesthetics, the terraced gardens, pristine, and entirely unnecessary water features. _You couldn’t just build a refugee camp, could you, Father. You had to make it your mansion, too._

The touch-tone menu provides options for housing assistance, employment opportunities, directions and coordinates, and the resident directory. When Miranda selects the last option, she’s directed to an error message.

_Due to the high volume of calls, the resident directory is unavailable at this time. Please check back later._

It’s not so much about what information line _says_ , but what it _doesn’t say._ Even the news sources Miranda consults have little to say beyond the press releases provided. She has no proof, none, but her father must be involved. Or perhaps, it’s the sleep-deprivation talking.

_All pomp and circumstance about his grand estate--until someone asks to go down the car elevator._

Miranda has no other leads. She could be completely off-base with this conspiracy theory, but what else can she do? She can’t give up on her sister. Opening her omni-tool, Miranda makes a few calls.


	5. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Hope the feelings and the smut make it work it!

Miranda’s so close she can taste it. She sets up a meeting with the Blue Suns, arranging to hire an all-human merc squad to escort her to Horizon. Her contact will pose as a refugee while Miranda infiltrates the back entrance to the facility, because her father is sure to have one. 

Donner Vosque won’t meet with her directly, so Miranda meets with one of his underlings on a shuttle orbiting the Citadel. They sit on benches on opposite sides, eyeing each other as her guards watch their every move. Miranda wonders if Kyra Vasquez truly works for Vosque, or if she’s one of Aria’s. She should have looked that up before coming here. Another person would be intimidated by the size of their guns, but Miranda is the best former agent Cerberus had to offer. Besides, she has what they want: credits--lots of them.

“Account number?” Kyra eyes her, holding up her omni-tool ready to collect the credits.

Miranda holds up her hand, “Terms, first.” The mercs roll their eyes. “No one shoots without my signal. No movement without my say so. No unnecessary chatter. You all ultimately answer to me, not Vasquez. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kyra bats the air at an non-existent house fly.  “Now the payment. Half up front. Half after.”

“Fine.” With all her savings from her days in Cerberus, money is inconsequential. She’s not even going to miss--

Her account won’t open. Something about a fraud claim. _Fraudulent, my arse._ She tries every trick she knows, contacting her tech experts silently all while trying to appear calm. This has never happened to her before. The timing--

“Something wrong, princess?”

“Hold on.” Miranda glances at Kyra once, then back to her omni-tool. Her contact replies. _Don’t call back. Dogs are watching me._ Another doesn’t reply at all. 

_Bloody hell_ , Miranda thinks. 

“You don’t have the money, do you.” Kyra’s smirk vanishes when Miranda doesn’t reply. “Boys. Princess here is pulling a fast one. Show her what we do to people who don’t deliver.”

And that’s when their guns come up. 

Miranda throws a combination of a smoke bomb and biotics. She attacks ruthlessly, but not carelessly, landing each blow amid the chaos. The pilot turns around in his seat, only to come face to face with Miranda’s pistol. 

“Get me to the Citadel. _Now_.”  

* * *

 

_Artemis?_

_I need to speak with you. Meet me at my apartment in the Commons. I’m sorry about what happened last time. I’ll make it up to you, I promise._

_\--Miri_

Miranda flags Artemis’s omni-tool to notify her when she gets out of the Presidium elevator. Then she can send her the apartment number. Hopefully by the time any hacker gets through Miranda’s encryption, Artemis will already be safely in her arms. Yes, Artemis is a marine. But she’s a marine who died once already. 

Hacking into the security of a man who went missing in the Coup, Miranda settles into the apartment, locking the door behind her. His body hasn’t, and probably never will be found. All she has to do is loop the security feeds so they don’t notice her, or her incoming guest. She sleeps with her pistol underneath her pillow. 

 

* * *

 

_PING!_

Miranda shoots up out of the sheets, rubbing her eyes before activating her omni-tool. It’s set to only disturb her sleep cycle with priority alerts and messages. Admittedly, that’s happened more and more often during this goddamned war. 

_Hey Miri_ \-- the subject line reads. Only two people call her that. Miranda’s heart pounds so hard it feels like her ribs will shatter. She waves her arm, opening the message.

_Always in control, aren’t you Miranda? Does Shepard know about the control chip you designed for her brain? The one you kept handy in case your former employer ever changed his mind about her?_

_Does your sister know you’re no better than her father?_

Miranda has to take a sedative after that. 

But when she wakes up, that feeling still lingers. It sends her pacing all over the apartment, until she wants to shatter the window with her biotics and jump out, and dive headfirst into the gardens below. For a split second she contemplates whether such a dive will kill her--and whether she’ll feel any pain when it does. 

_Stop it. Ori needs you_. 

But is she enough to save her?

After what seems like a decade, Artemis replies to her message. _Hey, got your message. On my way._ Miranda leans against the window, watching her progress on her omni-tool. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Perhaps it’s the stress. But it amazes Miranda how the love of her life can be presented by a tiny red dot on a two-dimensional map. She’s so focused on that dot she doesn’t hear Shepard come in. 

“Miri?”

“Artemis!” Miranda jumps slightly at her voice, quickly ushering her inside and locking the door behind her. 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Artemis smiles, but it fades as she looks her over. Taking Miranda’s hands, she asks “You okay?”

Miranda answers by guiding Artemis’s hands to her clothes, then pulling her into a kiss as hot as the sun. Artemis mumbles something against her lips, her hands tearing away from her zippers to reach for her face, but Miranda puts them back. Her lover breaks for air, so Miranda kisses underneath her chin in that place that always makes her melt. 

“Mm. Miri…” Artemis moans helplessly, falling back against the door. She forgets her protest, clutching Miranda as she undoes the buttons on her uniform. Does Artemis _ever_ wear casual clothes? Does she _own_ any? A laugh escapes her lips. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

Shoving her back against the door, Miranda murmurs in her ear, “Less talking.” 

Her love shudders at her words, holding on for dear life as Miranda ravishes her skin with kisses, from her neck, past her collar bone, nearly tearing off her uniform as she yanks it over her head. Artemis whispers her name like a prayer, closing her eyes and smoothing her fingers through her hair. The sun, filtered by the windows, glistens across her skin. It’s only when Artemis opens her eyes that Miranda realizes she’s stopped. 

“Miranda, what’s thi--” Miranda licks her through her underwear, holding her hips, until nothing coherent comes out of Artemis’s mouth. Artemis grips her hair with one hand, biting her own hand with the other, as her body trembles in ecstasy. Only pausing long enough to remove that last barrier, Miranda takes her clit between her lips, working it ever so gently. Even she can’t help moaning as her fingers find exactly how wet she is. Miranda pumps in and out with two fingers, licking her clit until Artemis can no longer stand. 

“C’mere.” Miranda helps her gently to the floor, then wipes her mouth with the heel of her hand. 

Her lover grins at her stupidly, breathless, playing with her now mussed hair, twisting one bunch around her finger until it curls. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that. But what’s this all about?”

“I need access to Alliance resources.”

“Wait.” Artemis sits up as if hit with cold water. “Is this about your sister?”

_Damnit_. “I can’t say why. You just need to trust me.”

Artemis stares at her slack jawed. “I…” She works her jaw as if Miranda just punched her in the face. “You…” Her words still won’t come out, so she stands from the floor, pacing around the room in nothing but her bra and the shock written all over her face. After wearing a track in the carpet, she spins and meets Miranda’s eyes. “Did you just...was all this…” She gestures to her bare skin, still flushed. “Because you _wanted_ something from me?”

This...this is not going how Miranda planned. “Artemis…”

“ _Miri_ ,” she says it with such anguish, “I thought we were past all this.” Her hands shake. “Past all the games.” ...And did her voice just waver? “I would give you _anything_.”

Henry Lawson’s voice haunts the corridors between her ears. _See? You’re just like me. No matter how much you lie, you’re a Lawson through and through._ Miranda opens her mouth to say that she can explain, but she closes it, realizing she can’t. 

Her silence isn’t helping. “What’s this about, Miranda?” Artemis grips her own hair, steadying her body when her mind seems to be off-balance. 

_Trust me_ , Miranda wants to say, but how can she? “I know this is a lot to ask.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” Artemis sits her bare ass on the floor, hugging her knees close with one arm and cradling her head in the other. 

“Everyone I’ve told has ended up missing, dead, or on the run.” Miranda sits across from her, still clothed. She inspects the floor, running a gloved finger across it. “The galaxy can’t lose you, Shepard.” Softly, she adds, “I can’t lose you.”

“Miranda--”

“ _Don’t._ I can’t give you much. But at least let me give you this.” Miranda dares to reach over, squeezing Artemis’s hand. “I need you to trust me. I know I haven’t earned that trust--”

“For the love of _God_ , Miranda.” Artemis breathes staccato, closing her eyes as she tries to lower her voice. “What’s gotten into you?”

If Miranda tells her, she’ll lose her. If she doesn’t tell her, she’ll lose her all the same. She _hates_ these odds. “Remember the control chip?”

Artemis glances at her sideways, her forehead pinched, and her eyes weary. “Yeah, you mentioned it once. Why?”

“The Illusive Man stopped me from putting it in your brain.” Miranda closes her eyes, letting out a leaden breath she hadn’t realized she’d be holding in. 

“Oh.” Artemis stares at the wall in front of her, twisting her lips. She lets out a heavy breath, too. “Look, I know we had a rocky start.” Turning their hands over, Artemis rubs her thumb across the back of Miranda’s hand. “But I trust you. You’ve come so far from when we met.” A sigh slips from her lips. “I just wish you wouldn’t keep me in the dark.” Swallowing, Artemis unfolds her body, leaning forward so she can pull Miranda into a kiss. “I want to share _everything_ with you.” Stopping short of Miranda’s lips, Artemis pulls back. “Sorry. That was...that was a lot.”

Miranda swallows, remembering their conversation in the docking bay. “Artemis...this, this isn’t a good time.” Clenching her fist, she hits the floor as she stares up at the ceiling. “I’m trying to ask you for a favor, and I don’t want it to seem like…”

“Like you’re manipulating me?” The words drip like acid from Artemis mouth as she stands. “You just tried to fuck your way into Alliance resources.” She stomps over to the kitchen sink, splashing herself with cold water. “Miranda, you can have them, okay?” Artemis braces her arms on the kitchen counter. “Just be honest with me. As honest as you can be.”

“I’m sorry I can’t say it back.” Miranda stands, brushing the dust from her clothes. “I want to.” She walks over to Artemis, slowly, carefully. Ever so gently, she brushes her fingers across her shoulders. “I’m just…. I’m still trying to figure out what love means.” Leaning her forehead against her shoulder, Miranda whispers. “If I’m _capable_ of love.”

Artemis turns, holding Miranda’s jaw with her long-fingered hands, tilting her head upward so their eyes meet. Her black eyes blaze as she says, “You’re just as human as anyone, Miranda.” She says it so gravely, like she’s quoting a sacred text. It’s the same way she addressed her crew before they infiltrated the Collector Base--the way that makes her crew follow her to hell and back. Miranda almost believes her. 

“How are you so sure?”

Artemis softens, brushing her lips across hers, up the lines of her jaw to her ear. “You love Oriana.” Her breath is hot on Miranda’s ear--and the heat flows all the way to her belly button, pooling between her legs until she is burning alive. “You would do anything to protect her.” Her hands roam from her shoulders to her butt, and back. “You’d risk losing me over a secret meant to keep me safe.” Once, she squeezes. “You brought me _back_ , Miranda.” Grazing her teeth against her skin, Artemis whispers, “You brought me back exactly how I was. You could have changed me in a thousand different ways, but you _didn’t_.” She pulls back, her voice thick with want...and something else. “I’m not going to put words in your mouth, Miranda. But you have the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

“Artemis.” If she says anything more, Miranda will burst into tears, so she doesn’t. Those three words still scare her, still remind her of a time when she was under her father’s thumb, so she doesn’t say them--at least not with her words. But Miranda says them over and over with her hands, tracing and caressing every centimeter of Artemis’s body, as if she didn’t know it so intimately already, as if she didn’t reconstruct it herself. And yet, Artemis’s skin and bones feel brand new--so full of her spirit--so full of that spirit that loves her despite everything. 

“Shh.” Artemis catches her mouth, inviting Miranda’s tongue past her lips with her own. Her arms grip her so fiercely it almost hurts, but Miranda welcomes it all. She walks backward, pulling Miranda with her.  Breathlessly, she whispers, “Let’s leave all of that behind. No Reapers, no family, no Cerberus.” Artemis’s legs bump back up against the bed. Kissing her throat, Artemis murmurs, “Just us.”

“Artemis--there’s too much at stake we--”

“C’mere.” Artemis lets go, falling back into the sheets, half-clothed and flush with need. It’s her lazy smile that convinces Miranda to join her. 

“Couldn’t wait, could you.” Miranda crawls over her, grabbing her hands one by one and putting them up by her head. 

“Never.” Artemis bites her grin, rolling her hips up against Miranda’s. “How is it that you always end up on top?”

Miranda sits back, grinding a little until a small sound escapes her lover’s lips. “Did you want to?”

Artemis laughs. “Nah. I’m almost out of moves.”

“I’m not.” 

Those words make Artemis swallow, and her voice is hoarse with need. “Yeah? What do you got?”

Miranda answers her with a kiss, pulling her bra out of the way so she can caress her properly. She guides Artemis’s hands to the zipper on her suit before winding her fingers through Artemis’s hair, just barely grazing her scalp with her nails. The zipper fumbles and slips through her fingers more than once. In the end, Miranda helps her help her out of her clothes, so she can focus on pinning her body in place. “Good lord, you squirm like a monkey. You know that?”

Artemis grins. “Says the woman who’s screwing the monkey.”

“Don’t make this weird.” Miranda wipes the drool from her mouth sitting up again, partially because she likes the way Artemis can’t look away from the lace in her bra, but also because she can’t decide where to go next. So many options and all of them sound like the best. Or maybe, she’s not sure how far Artemis wants to take this. 

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hey yourself. Enjoying the view?”

“Mmhm.” Artemis’ gaze darts away and she smudges her reddened, roughened lips as she searches for words. Her face reddens as she whispers, “But there’s a view I’ve been _dying_ to see.” She glances downward, toward Miranda’s lap, then dares to meet her eyes again. 

“Oh?” Miranda leans in closer, whispering. “Is this you trying to power bottom?”

A chuckle, a shy chuckle slips from Artemis’s mouth. “Maybe it is--I am.” Stumbling on her words? Artemis? “How....how would you feel, riding my face?” Her eyes widen at her own words, and she squeezes Miranda’s fingers a little tighter. 

“Oh.” How easily those images come to her mind, and how easily her mouth waters. “You want me to?” She must be blushing as brightly as the stripes on Artemis’s armor. It’s so filthy, so _smoldering_ Miranda swears the thermostat just failed. 

“I-I mean. You don’t have to if you don’t--”

Miranda presses a finger to Artemis mouth. “Save it.” Her lover’s face starts to fall, and Miranda grips her chin. “I don’t want your tongue getting tired.”

A soft gasp escapes her mouth before she pulls Miranda’s finger into it, grinning stupidly into her touch.

Taking Artemis hands, she scoots forward so that her knees are on either side of her head. She guides those hands to her ass, only then remembering she’s still wearing her panties. “Get them off for me, will you?”

Artemis grins, guiding them down her thighs, raising her eyebrows at how sodden they are already. 

“If it gets to be too much, push me up from your face.”

“Mmhm. Now c’mere.”

Miranda reaches forward, holding onto the headboard for leverage. She’s not entirely new at this--several men she’s dallied with in the past seemed to enjoy it. So why is she feeling so nervous? Artemis is the one doing all the-- _oh._

Her tongue slides up between her legs in one long, agonizing lick. Miranda swallows, gripping the headboard a little tighter. Artemis takes her time, as if she hasn’t seen Miranda’s body so many times before. Sitting up, she presses a kiss firmly against her clit, and Miranda bites a moan as she fights the urge to grind on her face. 

Artemis murmurs something into her, as she pinches her thighs. When Miranda fights another moan, she squeezes _harder_ , so hard it nearly hurts, and the gasp falls from her lips before she can stop herself. “Mm.” It’s so hard to tell with the way she’s making her shake, but Miranda thinks she fan can feel Artemis smile against her cunt. She rewards her by licking faster and harder, and Miranda swears the whole room spins. 

“ _Artemis_ ,” Miranda whimpers--the tension in her belly close to breaking. Her lover caresses her thighs soothingly. “I--” With the force of a falling star, she sinks onto Artemis’s face, grinding as her body shakes apart.

Later she comes to herself, having rolled onto her side. Bloody hell, did she-- “Artemis?”

“Hey, beautiful.” Artemis smiles lazily at her, pushing the sweaty hairs from Miranda’s face. 

Miranda blushes brightly. “I didn’t smother you, did I?” She reaches over, squeezing Artemis’s slick fingers--slick from what? Her gaze follows Artemis’s, as she glances down her own body, still flushed from their love making. Oh. _Oh_. “Was it too much?” Caressing her chin, Miranda whispers., “Was I too much?”

Artemis chuckles, shaking her head. “You were _amazing_. You _are_ amazing.” She pulls Miranda into a sloppy kiss, and she can taste herself on her, her body already stirring again for more. When they part for air, Miranda rolls onto her back, with her love pillowing her head on her chest. She traces the curves of her stomach, her breath stirring the skin around her belly button. “Lately I’ve felt like the whole galaxy is weighing on my shoulders. But not when I’m with you.” Pink rises to her cheeks as she murmurs, “I like it when you take control.” Squirming a little, she adds, “Is that weird?”

“No.” Miranda slides a hand from her shoulder to her hips and back. “With everything going on, my life feels like it’s in chaos, completely out of my control--except for when I’m with you.”

Artemis sighs into her skin. “I wish we could make this last forever.” She draws circles on Miranda’s stomach, watching her breathes rise and fall.

“Me too.”


	6. Behind The Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda uncovers Sanctuary's dark secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, sorry for the delay. This chapter was a behemoth, and to be honest, my personal life has been rather chaotic and miserable lately.

It does take some time to get the Alliance resources--funding, shuttles, soldiers, even. The war must be slowing everything down. _Hold on, Ori. We’re coming for you_. 

Miranda has them repaint the shuttle’s Alliance blue to something less conspicuous. She flies to the Citadel, trading their uniforms with actual refugees--they’re going for authenticity, right down to the smell of unwashed laundry. The soldiers chatter and they hoot, and they holler, and the slouch and belch, and laugh so loudly it makes Miranda’s ears burn. Just because they’re on a non-Alliance mission, they think they can do whatever they want. 

Standing in the middle of the shuttle, Miranda clears her throat, she feels six sets of eyes focus on her. “This is a covert mission. We are to infiltrate the facility _quietly._ No weapons, not even concealed ones. No violence. Recon and report.”

A soldier clears his throat. “No disrespect ma’am, but we get it.”

Miranda’s about to correct him when he interrupts “You know we’re N’s right? Special forces?”

Of course, Miranda knows about the Interplanetary Combatives Training, the Villa, and all their graduates. She worked with several Ns who had left the Alliance for Cerberus. _Bloody hell, Shepard._ She had been expecting Artemis to send what she could spare, not her best. How in the world did Shepard manage to weasel these handful from the front lines? Away from Hackett? “Noted,” is all she says, proceeding with the mission briefing, in less detail. 

Half the squad will pose as her family unit. The rest will stay behind with the shuttle to cover them when they evacuate. Miranda hopes it will be enough. _They are the best._ You _are the best. It_ has _to be enough._

The facility dominates the countryside--as large as Henry Lawson’s ego. Sleek lines, polished pavement, and manicured gardens--a far cry from the refugees camped in the Citadel’s docking areas. How anyone could mistake this luxurious facade for a refugee center--Miranda has no idea. 

Sanctuary’s exterior even has pointless water features--wait. 

Miranda feels the warm sea breeze on her face. She hears the jets and the seabirds of Sydney Harbor in her ears. Her father’s perfectly well-kept lawn beneath her feet. 

_Damn you to hell, Henry Lawson._

Nothing good sits beneath those pools of water--Miranda knows that for a fact. She adjusts her wig and joins the line. Lieutenant Davis squeezes her hand reassuringly. No trouble yet. The families in front of them look exhausted, but relieved. They chat about biotiball and the latest Blasto movie, as if the war isn’t even happening. Only when they mention where they’re from, do the nods and sympathetic hums confirm that the Reapers have arrived. Mostly, they focus on their future-speculating about the size of their beds and their rooms, or when they’ll get to talk to their families outside the facility. It takes every bit of willpower Miranda has not to say anything. 

_Soon_. 

Sanctuary asks for her name, planet of origin, age, weight, and medical information like her doctor’s contact information and any medications Miranda “Ruby” is taking. Strangely, it never asks for her identification number, or about any criminal records. The intake clerks take her body temperature, and saliva, but not her fingerprints. Not once do they ask about family members or emergency contacts. Miranda squeezes Davis’s hand when they hand him a saliva test. They won’t be in Sanctuary long enough to get caught. If all goes according to plan, Sanctuary will be evacuated by then. 

One by one, the individuals hand off their possessions, short of stripping out of their clothes. Miranda and Davis look at one another, handing off their bags. The clerk nods at “Ruby’s” coat. Shaking her head, Miranda murmurs, “It’s for my health.”

“You’ll need to take it off inside, ma’am.”

The woman next to him jabs him with her elbow. “Leave her alone, Charley”

“Fine. But we have rules for a reason.”

“She’s harmless just like the rest of them. Stop being so jumpy.”

“But--”

“You’re fine, ma’am. Just head on down the stairs for processing.”

The line dissolves into a small crowd as they descend further into the facility. At the bottom of the staircase lies a set of double doors. Something about how quiet it is beyond those doors makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Miranda squeezes Davis’s hand twice, and she makes eye contact with Sergeant Jones behind them and winks once. _Caution. Trouble ahead._

As the first set of doors close behind them, Miranda realizes why she hasn’t heard a sound. It’s the hum of machines. But the doors aren’t airtight. First, she smells faint anti-septic. Then miasma fills her nostrils.

_No no no._

What use would her father have for dead refugees? This is wrong. All wrong. 

Another round of antiseptic washes over her face just before the inner doors open. Miranda lingers at the back. _Cover me_ , she whispers into Davis’s ear. He immediately pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Hey! What’s taking so long?”

With their eyes trained on her fake husband, Miranda hacks into the nearest console, whispering. “This is Miranda Lawson, if you’ve managed to get this far, you must be desperate or stupid--”

Cold steel at the back of her head cuts her off. Miranda hears a click of a safety before the guard opens his mouth. “No outside communication, lady.”

Miranda holds up her hands. “Sorry. I just wanted to get a message to my parents. They’re awfully worried.”

“Do you seriously want to draw the Reapers here? Get back in line.”

“I’m going.” Miranda stuffs her hands in her pockets, readying her biotics. The guard turns her around, keeping the gun trained on her while the rest of the crowd watches.

“Move! We’ve got more people waiting to get in. Do _not_ keep them waiting.”

If Miranda moves, the refugees will die. If she does nothing, they’ll likely die anyway. She should have brought more soldiers. She should have come sooner. 

As she passes through the second set of doors, just in time to see the stasis pods open and waiting--the guard sucks in a breath, and Miranda feels the hum of someone else’s biotics. 

“Shit! We’ve got a live one!”

Miranda whips off her wig, and the robes hiding her familiar catsuit. She throws the guard against the wall, before the ground shakes out from under all of them. 

* * *

 

She crawls through a maze of glass, gunfire, screams, smoke, and blood. “Davis, do you read?” She calls into her com. No response. Jones responds with a pained cry before her com cuts out. 

At first Miranda wonders if Shepard has followed her here. Surely Artemis wouldn’t needlessly endanger all these innocent people? Then Miranda hears the wail of a harvester, and the crash of a shuttle. 

Reapers. 

For most of the war, the Reapers and Cerberus have left each other alone. Landing in the same war zones, sure, but fighting the residents instead of each other. Miranda feels awful about leaving the families behind, but she has her own family to search for. And what help would Miranda be as a lone woman in a sea of brainwashed troops and indoctrinated husks? She hopes desperately that she isn’t too late to save her sister. 

A warp here, a gunshot there, ducking and covering when a cannibal feasts on a dead marauder only a couple meters from Miranda’s feet. At least she has an easier time sneaking past the guards. Not that hard to do when most of them lay dead. Reaching another console, Miranda hacks into the system and copies schematics to her omni-tool. Maybe if she shuts down power to the central processing plant, Miranda can cut off the reapers from any arriving refugees. Maybe she can trap them inside the first few rooms and corridors, in case any non-Cerberus employees survive. Perhaps it’s cruel to think this way, but Miranda doesn’t care what happens to those working for her father. No matter how kind, they’ll end up bought out, blackmailed, or brainwashed like Niket. Miranda won’t make that mistake again. 

There. The doors are shut. Nothing can get in or out without a lot of trouble. Miranda leaves another audio log behind. She doesn’t want to consider failure, but if Artemis _does_ follow her here, and the worst should happen, maybe Miranda can do her one last favor. Maybe Artemis can save Oriana if she can’t. 

The control tower lies on the opposite side of the facility. Miranda might as well explore the laboratories on the way. She’s about to enter the first one when she hears Oriana’s voice. 

“ _This is Oriana Lawson. Stay away from Sanctuary. It’s not what it seems._ ” 

Tears spring into Miranda’s eyes and her throat swells. Ori’s _alive_. Well. At least she was when she recorded that message. For the first time since she landed, Miranda dares to hope that her father’s pride will override his ambition. 

“ _Please_. _You must listen to me. They’re using--” And_ then her sister’s voice cuts off. 

A tsunami of images rush Miranda’s brain. Ori lying on the floor with her head cracked open. Husk cybernetics creeping over her skin as the indoctrination takes over. A gun aimed at her head. 

_Hold on, Ori. Stay alive for me. Please._

As Miranda pushes through the facility, taking out reapers and Cerberus drones alike, she’s distantly aware of something dripping down her face. Stopping just before a sealed door, Miranda wipes it with her fingers, and smears it on the wall. Red. She’s bleeding. She’s _been_ bleeding.

She doesn’t feel the pain. How many stims has she taken? Not enough if Oriana doesn’t make it out of here. Miranda dabs the wound with her sleeve and uses her omni-tool to hack the door. 

A solitary guard pushes back his chair as the door opens. “Huh? Who’s--”

His chair rocks back, and blood streams from the wound on his head. 

“Just me.” Miranda walks past the body, only to see a biometric scanner. “Bloody hell,” she murmurs, wheeling the body back to the desk, puppeteering his fingers to shut the system down. 

That’s the lovely thing of stims. No appetite, little food consumed, nothing to come up but the bile in her mouth. _Ori, Ori Ori,_ she chants in her mind until her stomach settles. Miranda also records another message. Will Artemis notice the body sitting next to her? _The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it Miranda?_

Alright. Maybe she’s had one too many stims. 

With the Reapers shut out and the Cerberus troops shut in, Miranda has time to rewind some of the feeds. She confirms what she already fears, and worse.

Henry Lawson has been experimenting on the refugees. He’s been turning them into husks. Why? Because the Illusive Man wants to harness indoctrination. _Bastard._

This time Miranda can’t keep the bile down. She wipes her mouth, collapsing to the floor, rattling like a frightened animal. Miranda was stupid to come alone. Artemis should have come with her. She should have told her. 

_I’m going to die here. Alone. Ori will never see my face again. I can’t beat my father. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

She can’t even breathe. Her breaths fall short, spasming within her chest. Miranda digs her fingers past her temples, twisting into her hair. 

All those years running from her father. All those machinations to keep Ori out of his reach. All for naught. 

An explosion outside the room shakes Miranda from her panic. She must keep moving. On her way out, she grabs the half-eaten protein bar sitting on the desk. The security guard won’t need it. 

Maybe if she gets word out, the Alliance will send help. Maybe the refugees will find somewhere else to stay. Anywhere has to be better than Sanctuary. 

Thinking about her father makes her heart pound, so Miranda focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. Her path gets harder as she goes--the Reapers and the Cerberus forces having taken each other out--leaving the most difficult enemies--banshees, brutes, nemesis, and phantoms. At one point, Miranda reaches for her the half-eaten protein bar--only to find that it fell out along the way. Her stomach gurgles, and she briefly contemplates fishing the bodies for a snack. _No time._

Hacking and opening the door, Miranda raises her pistol, only to find herself alone. She doesn’t even need to hack into the mainframe--the guard had no time to lock it before a Marauder shot him. The marauder's head sits on the opposite side of the room from the body, sliced clean off. Whichever phantom who did it has long since left. At least Miranda won’t have to worry about it. 

Disabling the communication scrambler, Miranda sifts through the security feeds of her father’s office. For all the effort Henry made to level up his security--the recordings of his phone calls are all too easy to find. Miranda’s eyes narrow, looking for the trap in the code, but she doesn’t find one. In fact, no alarms sound when Miranda uploads the video she’s made to the Extranet. Has something happened to her father? And if this is the control tower, shouldn’t Henry Lawson be here? 

“Miss me?” Kai Leng’s breath falls hot and heavy on her shoulders. He screams as the stasis field around her body detonates, melting his gloves right into his skin. Really, he should be happy his fingers don’t shatter right off. 

Miranda jerks away from him, lashing out with eezo to knock him off his feet. Kai Leng flips and lands like a cat, rushing toward her blade out and ready. Holding out her hand, Miranda waits as time slows to a crawl. Her heart beats.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

Just as Kai Leng gets within striking distance, his body freezes. Stasis. 

Miranda gathers the collar of his ridiculous uniform in her fist. Maybe she should gloat. Perhaps Miranda should rip that bloody smirk right off his face. Kai Leng deserves worse. But Miranda doesn’t have time. She’s opening her omni tool, readying an overload sequence the moment the stasis field wears off. The door whooshes open. 

“Let him go, Miranda.” Her father’s voice settles over her shoulders like frost. 

She’s not going to face him. Not now. Not ever. “I’m done listening to you.”

Someone whimpers from behind her. 

“Maybe you won’t listen to me. But surely you’ll listen to your sister.” 

Miranda whips around to see Henry’s left hand slip from Oriana’s mouth, in time to hear her scream. His left hand is wrapped around her neck, and he moves his right behind her head, ready to choke. Her father’s gun sits at a holster on his hips. 

“Miranda! Don’t worry about me. Save yourself.” Tears streak stream down Oriana’s cheeks. 

Opening her mouth to answer, Miranda hears the stasis field dissolve with a _pop!_ _Shit_. Kai Leng’s blade immediately moves to her throat. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“So have I.” Miranda overloads him, knocking him back with her biotics as he screams. Oriana reaches for her father’s hip. _Smart woman--takes after her sister, that one._ Before Henry can respond, Miranda tosses a warp at him. _Serves him right._

Miranda feels the tingle of eezo before she’s knocked into one of the consoles. The sound of her rib cracking echoes across the room. “Forget me already?” 

Gunshot. 

_No._ Miranda jerks her head up and breathes a sigh of relief. Ori still has the gun. But their father is still standing. _Damnit._ Raising her arms, Miranda moves to warp her father, but nothing rises to her fingertips. When did she last eat something? The ground rushes toward her face. _I’m sorry, Ori._

Instead of the whoosh of a sharpened blade, Miranda hears the beep a computer. Everything, including her father’s voice, sounds like its coming through a can. 

“What are you waiting for? Finish her!”

“ _She’s_ not my target.” Kai Leng answers, without really answering. Miranda should stop him, but she should save her energy--what little’s left. There’s another _fizz_ , _pop!_ And the smell of burnt rubber, along with the hiss of a smoke bomb filling the air. 

“Get back here!” Henry shouts, to no avail. 

“He’s gone. And you’re dead.”

Then the door slides open. Oh yes, Miranda’s certainly delirious. No way Artemis Shepard would turn up here. She has a galaxy to save. In the midst of a war, Artemis doesn’t have time for Miranda’s family drama. 

“Commander Shepard.” Henry Lawson calls out. Oriana yelps in surprise as he grabs her. “Excellent timing.”

_No._ Miranda’s not delirious. She’s having a nightmare--only this time it’s real. _Get out of here_. _I can’t die here knowing he took you too._

Artemis snarls. “Put the gun _down_.” She hasn’t looked this pissed since she woke up in the Lazarus facility. Must’ve seen the messages Miranda recorded. Always doing her due diligence--it’s part of what Miranda loves about her. 

“No,” her father glares back, elbow tight around Ori’s neck. He clicks the safety off. They shout back and forth, but Miranda’s head swims as she tries to stand. “That’s close enough! Both of you!”

Maybe she’s not _that_ hungry. Maybe her biotics just needed a cooldown. Her ribs flare white hot when Miranda tries to straighten up. 

“Kai Leng didn’t finish the job, but _I_ will.” 

“It’s over, Henry. You’re finished.” 

“On the contrary. Now that the reapers are taken care of, we have a way out.”

Not again. _Never_ again. “Shepard,” Miranda croaks in protest. “Don’t let him take her.” 

When pressed, Henry claims to be a bloody messiah, saving countless lives. Artemis blazing eyes meets Miranda’s gaze, and nods. “Try to leave with her, and I’ll blast your head open. Let her go, and _maybe_ you walk.”

“I’ve done nothing to you,” Henry snaps. Gaslighting bastard, as always. 

Artemis’s expression remains etched in steel. “Let her go and walk away. I won’t say it again.” 

Her father takes eons to make his decision. “Alright.” He shoves Ori to the floor. The window behind him laces with cracks. “Take her.” It won’t take much.  “But I want out alive. Deal?”

_Don’t._ “Deal.” Artemis lowers her gun. 

Miranda’s fists shake with fury. Her arm moves before she thinks, and she blasts him with every bit of energy she has left. The glass shatters behind Henry Lawson as he screams. Her voice moves hollowly past her lips. “No deal.”

Oriana’s sharp gasp brings Miranda back to the present. Before she’s even turned around, her sister’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close. Miranda steps back, looking her over. “Did he hurt you? Are you alright?” Ori doesn’t answer, but Miranda feels her tears pooling into her shoulder. “It’s okay, Ori. You’re safe now.”

“I’m fine.” Ori wipes her eyes as she pulls away. “I just want to get out of here.” She won’t meet her eyes. _I’m sorry, Ori. I truly am._

“We will. Just give me a minute, okay?” 

It’s not professional, not in the slightest, to pull Shepard into that kiss, but Miranda’s past caring. Her mouth tastes like blood and smoke, and right now it’s the sweetest thing Miranda’s ever tasted. They’re alive. They’re all alive. 

Artemis kisses back at first, equally elated and desperate for her touch. Soon enough the high of it passes, and she wretches herself away. “Holy hell, Miranda. Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

“You had enough on your plate.” Miranda wipes her mouth, leaning heavily against the console. Strange, how the excuse fails to hold up when she says it out loud. 

“Hundreds, if not _thousands_ of refugees _dead_ , and _I’m_ too _busy_? Fucking hell.” 

Ashley Williams, who must’ve slipped in behind her commander, shifts awkwardly on her feet, her assault rifle still in her hands. She glances at Artemis’s former guard from her house arrest. Lieutenant James Vega, who served on Fehl Prime, arrested for a bar fight on Omega, and now part of Commander Shepard’s select Normandy crew. Vega shrugs, and they lead Oriana out of the room, presumably to the nearest outside exit. 

“I didn’t know the extent of it until I got here.” Saliva swells in her throat. “And by then I couldn’t contact you.”

“Communications scrambler.” Artemis takes a steadying breath, but she’s still tense from the fight. “Did you get it?” She stares at the wall behind her, measuring her breathes. Miranda can see each count with the nod of her head. 

Miranda nods. “And then some.” She steps forward, watching Artemis track her movements. Holding out her hand, Miranda reveals the tracker she placed on Kai Leng. “Should lead you right to the Illusive Man.”

Reaching out to take it, Artemis stops, pinching her eyes shut. “I’m glad you’re okay, Miranda.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Miranda says quickly, opening Artemis’s fingers so she can place the small device in her hand. 

“But I wish you wouldn’t insist on handling it _alone_.” Artemis holds Miranda’s hand between hers, and for the first time, Miranda notices the fear behind her eyes. 

“Nobody’s perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could promise that the next update will come soon, but I'm picking up a second job for two months, so....no promises.


	7. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry for the slow update. Not only did taking on an extra job exhaust me physically, but it also exhausted me creatively. I also got distracted by a really, REALLY good season of Titans. Oops.

“You alright?” Miranda knows the answer before Artemis opens her mouth, but she needs to hear her talk about it. 

Artemis herself paces back and forth out of the field of view. The dark, nondescript background doesn’t say much about where she’s at, but the spaciousness of it suggests her spectre office. _Ah. That’s it._ “Hackett _grounded_ me.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow. “Are you in trouble?”

“ _No_ ,” Artemis spits. “But they ordered the Normandy into dry dock, and Joker won’t fly his baby out until she gets serviced.”

“You want to go after Kai Leng.”

Screeching to a halt, Artemis gapes at her. “Of _course,_ I do. You know what he’s capable of. And we finally have his location.” She pulls at her hair. “And I can’t _do_ anything about it.”

How badly Miranda emphasizes with her. She wouldn’t have waited to go after her sister. Miranda _didn’t_ wait to go after her sister. “You have the location of Cerberus Headquarters.” But that’s not what Shepard needs to hear. “The Illusive Man isn’t like the Shadowbroker. He doesn’t move around.”

Artemis’s lips curl ever so slightly, but she says nothing. Instead she sighs heavily. “All that to say. If you have time,” she scratches the back of her head, glancing away from the camera. “I got some too.”

Miranda leans forward, smirking. “Are you asking me out?”

Her lover furrows her brow. “Have we ever _gone_ on an actual date?

Shit. She’s right. 

* * *

“Fix me something while you’re back there, would you?”

“Drinking in is not the same as going out, Miri.” Artemis ducks behind the bar anyway, rummaging around.

“Forgive me for wanting a moment with you. Alone.” Maybe she said that last part too strongly, for Shepard’s head pops around the bar, staring at her.

Their eyes meet, and Artemis scoots back into hiding. “I missed you too, Miri. Cocktails coming right up.”

“You don’t drink.”

“One _mock_ tail and one _cock_ tail coming right up.”

Miranda laughs out loud. “It sounds so filthy when you say it like that.”

“Thought you _liked_ to get dirty.” She pops up, with two tumblers in hand. 

“Only when you’re involved.”

Popping some bottles and cans on the counter, Artemis snickers. “Aww, I’m touched.” She stands up, mixing the drinks with surprising finesse. How many cocktails did she make and drink before she went sober? “So, what brings you over?”

“You invited me.”

“Oh! Right. You’re the one who called.”

Miranda clears her throat. “I heard some strange things in the news. And then you weren’t responding to coms for nearly a _day_. Something about a clone?”

Part of Artemis’s drink spills on the counter as she jolts. “That was on the news?”

“They had a field day. You alright?”

“Did you know about it?”

“I didn’t know what to make of the reports. You sounded like you had lost your mind.”

Miranda barely hears Artemis when she answers. “I mean about the clone.” Her eyes watch her closely as she continues. “She was a Cerberus project, wasn’t she?”

“It--she was a backup plan. In case I failed to bring you back.” Miranda rolls her eyes. “Which I knew wasn’t going to happen.”

Artemis stares at her glass. “But she was a whole _person_. And Cerberus just made her out of thin air.”

“We made her from your tissue. We’re not gods. Despite what the Illusive Man thinks.”

“Mm.” Artemis takes her drink with her, leaning against the floor to ceiling windows.

Miranda follows, sipping her own Old Fashioned. And then she sees the view. “Aww. They shut down my favorite sushi place.” They talk about Brooks, the exploding fish tank--sipping their drinks as the traffic flies by. 

“How do I know you’re not a clone?”

Artemis smirks slowly, pulling her into a kiss full of heated promises. Who knows when they’ll see each other again? This whole night feels like a fever dream. Any moment they could wake up alone. Miranda means to make the most of it.

“A compelling argument.” Miranda matches her expression, eyeing her up and down. “But I’m not completely convinced.”

“Are we…?” Artemis sputters, but her eyes darken with want. 

“Are we what, Artemis?”

She swallows and starts to look away as Miranda draws her attention back with her finger. “Is this...a scene?” A gulp. “A roleplaying scene?”

“Do you want a roleplaying scene?”

“Heh.” Artemis’s gaze falls on her lips, and then rises to her eyes. “Sounds fun. Are you gonna…?” She makes a face. “Gonna dominate me? Again?” 

Miranda cups her cheek. “Do you want me to dominate you?”

Artemis’s cheeks color ever so slightly, and she nods. “Yes,” she says thickly. 

“Dim the lights.” Miranda releases Artemis, trailing a hand down her chest. “In fact. Turn them off.”

“You catch that, Glyph?”

A floating ball of light floats toward them. “Right away, Commander.”

Miranda makes a face. “How long has it been watching us?”

Glyph turns its ocular lens toward her. “Not long, Operative Lawson. The Commander activated privacy mode before you walked in.”

“So, you’ll erase any information recorded for the duration of this visit?”

“Yes, Miss Lawson.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.” The VI dissipates in pixels of energy. In the now dimmed light, Miranda can only see her lover through the pink haze of the Silversun Strip. And not a soul can see them. Miranda leans her back against the glass, turning her gaze towards Artemis. “Now why don’t you continue with your reasoning.”

“Always the skeptic.” Artemis’s olive skin flares like hot coals in the filtered light. She starts at Miranda’s mouth, taking her time tasting her, before trailing her lips down her chin to where it meets her neck. Mm--she remembers that spot. Oh--and that other one where her neck met her shoulder. Why had Miranda avoided relationships for so long? 

Miranda’s hand winds into her hair, pulling pin after pin out as Artemis makes her way down to her chest. Her hair finally comes free as her lips close around Miranda’s nipple. “Mm. Artemis.” Two eyes spark with mirth as she glances back up at her. Artemis lingers there, freeing her other breast so she can cup it with her hand. Neither satisfies her lover for long, and Miranda licks her lips as she watches her trail her kisses down to her belly button. She tries to stay in character, but Artemis doesn’t make it easy, her silver tongue outlining her argument across the carved lines of her abdomen, touching her nose just above where Miranda yearns for her to touch. 

“Mm.” Miranda then swears under her breath, and Artemis grins against her, licking her lips before giving one wet kiss against her thigh. 

“Still skeptical, love?” Artemis’s eyes glow with mirth. 

“Mmhm.” She knows words. Lots of words. However, the only one coming to mind in this moment is _fuck_. But Miranda wants to draw this out. Tease Artemis while she teases her. But she’s making it so bloody difficult. 

Artemis makes a point of sighing dramatically, letting her warm breath ghost between her thighs. “Fine, fine.” And she kisses her pussy again. 

_Bugger it all_ \--why don’t these windows have grills? Or _anything_ Miranda could hold onto? Her legs shake, and Miranda’s half-convinced they’ll pool into a puddle on the floor if Artemis isn’t more careful. “Oh god.”

“Shh. I got you.” Miranda swears to any deity who might possibly exist, Artemis bloody well holds her up with one _arm_ , flexed and pressed against her stomach. If Miranda Lawson wasn’t a sodden mess _before_ , she certainly is _now_. Bloody show _off._ Artemis uses her free hand to slip a finger or two inside her, and Miranda practically screams. Hopefully this apartment is more soundproof than the SR2’s cabin. 

Artemis finally allows her to sink to the floor, and they cuddle together against the glass. “Convinced now?” She laughs, brushing the sweaty strands from Miranda’s face. 

“Never doubted you.” Miranda takes her chin with one finger, pulling her into a breathless kiss. She can still taste herself on Artemis’s lips, and it stirs her loins anew. “Mm.”

“Even when we were enemies?” Artemis asks when she pulls back for air. 

“Especially not then. I only doubted you’d keep from turning us in.”

“I would have if I could have, but I’m glad I didn’t.” Artemis pulls her into another kiss, and Miranda can taste her hunger. She’s hungry too, but she’s not going to take her on the living room floor--not in this lavish apartment. 

But Artemis is ravenous, with the pull of Jupiter in her touch. “Mm,” Miranda manages as her lover nibbles on her ear. “Artemis….”

“Yeah?” Artemis brushes her fingers against the inside of Miranda’s thigh, and they both shiver. 

Another moan slips out of Miranda’s mouth as she manages to tear her hands away. “Not here,” she says with her voice full of gravel.

Artemis _pouts_. “Fine, fine.” She rises from the floor as slow as a mountain, but she brings Miranda with her. “Where?”

“Have you even _used_ any of your beds here?”

“They’re not my beds.” Artemis sobers, staring off into the kitchen. “They’re Anderson’s.” Perhaps sex against the living room windows wasn’t entirely Miranda’s idea after all. 

_He’s not coming back, Artemis,_ Miranda wants to say. She’s seen the reports of Earth. Concentration camps, indoctrinated governments, wholesale destruction of age-old cities--no one fighting back will live long, especially not long enough to return to a Citadel apartment. “They’re beautiful beds. He wouldn’t want them gathering dust.” 

“A cleaning drone comes in once a week, but I get what you mean.” Artemis sighs, trailing her fingers along the piano keys, playing a scale without rhythm or direction. 

Miranda joins her, wearing nothing but her bra, and she decides to put it to use--letting the lace brush up against her lover’s back. Her nose grazes the ridge of one of her ears. “Guest bed?” Baby steps. 

Artemis closes her eyes, taking one breath and letting it out as she nods. “Alright.”

Taking her hand, Miranda leads her to the bed next to the shower.

* * *

“How do you feel about bondage?” Miranda leans over Artemis, clasping each of her hands in her own. She straddles her, too, but only enough to let their bodies heat the air between them. 

Artemis grimaces. “I’m not really a fan.”

Miranda suspects Artemis’s feelings go deeper than distaste, but she doesn’t press the issue. She’d much rather press _other_ buttons. “Sensory deprivation?” Her breath ghosts over Artemis’s mouth, and her lover’s lips part in anticipation. 

“Like a blindfold?” Artemis gazes up at her so softly and openly--not a view most people see. Perhaps it’s something she only shares with Miranda. Her heart aches at the thought--along with her loins.

“That’s one form, yes.” She turns her head, whispering into Artemis’s ear. “Would you like to try a blindfold?”

“Yeah.” Artemis swallows, but she doesn’t tense, not even when Miranda leaves the bed to procure a silk scarf. She saw some _very_ nice silk ties but decided against it. Her lover would not appreciate seeing any of Anderson’s belongings in bed. 

“Close your eyes.” Miranda straddles her, tying the scarf around her head, but not too tightly. “How’s that feel?” she whispers into her ears. 

Artemis shifts beneath Miranda, her head turning each way as Miranda moves her hands up and down the sheets on either side. “Weird. But good. I think.” Goosebumps crest across her skin, and Miranda draws her biotics across them, from Artemis’s collarbone down to her hips, never quite reaching between her legs. “Mm,” her lover says, squirming a little. “Tickles.”

“In a good way?” Miranda whispers into her ear, letting her breath ghost across her skin. 

“Y-yeah.” Artemis parts her legs, but Miranda doesn’t take the bait, not yet. She does travel down her body, breathing in the scent of her arousal.

“So wet already, and I haven’t even touched you.” 

“Cheater,” Artemis mumbles. 

Miranda sits up, and Artemis reaches for her. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Then hold still.” Miranda soothes her hands, drawing them above her head, licking her lips at the way it stretches her abdomen. Unable to help herself, she traces her tongue across those muscles, reveling in the way Artemis twitches and moans. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispers, letting her fingers and wisps of her biotics travel down her thighs. 

“Miri.” Artemis gasps, her hips lifting Miranda with her. 

“So strong. And stubborn.” Miri pushes her back down, pushing her thighs farther apart. Mm. This angle won’t do for how long she’s going to be down here, so she shoves a pillow beneath Artemis’s firm ass, squeezing it for good measure before she lets her settle down. Blowing a puff of air against her inner thigh, Miranda pulls back. 

Artemis groans, but she holds still, mostly. 

“Patience,” Miranda murmurs, kissing the inside of her ankle, then her calf. Artemis’s pulse quickens as her mouth nears her core, and the heat between them rises. She pauses at her lover’s knee, sending biotic vibrations up her skin ahead of her mouth. By the time her lips meet the spot between her legs, Artemis’s breath has gone ragged, and her underwear is soaked. Pulling it out of the way, Miranda kisses her again, harder deeper, tracing her entrance with blue sparked fingers. 

“Oh, fuck, Miri,” Artemis whimpers and begs. “I can’t.” One of her hands twists inside Miranda’s hair, and she looks up to see the other gripping the headboard for dear life. 

“Yes, you can,” Miranda murmurs against her clit, kissing and sucking as her lover writhes beneath her. “Are you close, Ari?” She can already tell by the words slipping out of her mouth, but Miranda wants to hear her say it.

“ _Miri_ ,” Ari’s fingers dig into her scalp, “ _yes,_ ” she manages as her hips thrust into her touch. “ _So close_.”

Miri lies beside her so she can watch her face, and she whispers against her ear. “Then come for me, Ari.” She twists her fingers, pulling on Ari’s clit with her biotics, and her lover’s whole-body arches toward the ceiling. When the orgasm fades, Miri dims the lights, and undoes the blindfold softy, bringing her back slowly. 

“Damn,” she gasps softly, staring across the room as her breathing slows. 

“That good, was it?”

Artemis swallows several times, looking over at her finally, her skin flushed. “I had no idea.” Her fingers touch Miranda’s face, before drawing her into a kiss, grinning as she tastes herself on her lips. “What you were capable of.”

“Few do.”

* * *

Artemis stares at the displays of cabinetry, saying nothing. It’s not until Miranda taps her shoulder that she realizes her girlfriend is glaring at the varnish. 

“Ari?” Miranda lays a hand on her shoulder. 

Shaking her off, Artemis pulls back. “I can’t do this.” She heads toward the kitchen.

“Artemis, wait.” 

“Miranda. This isn’t negotiable. Just leave it alone.” Artemis plops down on the kitchen island, holding a glass full of sparkling water. Her eyes distantly watch the bubbles pop.

Sighing, Miranda stops in her tracks, eyeing the stack of datapads next to the Normandy display. So much for making the apartment their own. It shouldn’t bother her so much. She’s never been much for interior decorating. But now Miranda has someone to decorate _with_ , and it makes all the difference. Can’t Artemis see that? If Miranda helped jumpstart the process, maybe she would? Leaning over the table, Miranda reaches for an empty box, and the nearby rustle makes her heart sink.

The pile of datapads scatter off the desk, and Admiral David Anderson’s voice echoes throughout the apartment at full volume. 

_“.... Few people know what Shepard's been through.”_

Artemis freezes, her eyes wide. 

_“I'd like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes she forgets there's a whole bunch of people who lose sleep over her getting back home. Maybe it doesn't need to be said. Maybe--_ ”

“Turn it _off_.” 

“It fell on the floor.” Miranda says lamely.

Artemis slams her glass down, swerving off the counter and out of the kitchen. She kneels on the floor as all the datapads start playing Anderson’s voice all at once. Her arms shake as she tries to silence them one by one, but the stack keeps sliding out of her hands. Throwing one across the room, Artemis covers her ears, and her breath shakes. “Please turn it off.”

“Later.” Miranda touches her gently. “Let’s get you upstairs, away from the noise.”

Artemis jumps slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. “But--”

“Shh.” Miranda wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the room they slept in earlier--away from the master bedroom. She helps Artemis out of her clothes, and under the covers, jacking up the climate control so they can lie under all the blankets. “They’ll still be there in an hour.”

Her lover says nothing, only resting her head against Miranda’s chest. Tears drop one by one on her skin, but Miranda doesn’t say a word, just runs her fingers through Artemis’s hair until her breathing slows and her body stills. She’s almost asleep when Artemis finally breaks her silence.

“He was the one that found me after the Raids.”

Miranda frowns. “On Mindoir.”

“Yeah.” She burrows her head against Miranda’s collarbone. “He’s not coming back, is he.”

“There’s always a chance.”

“He’s on _Earth_ , Miri. In the thick of it.” A sob escapes her mouth and her body shakes with the impact. “There’s no chance.”

Squeezing her tight, Miranda answers. “We never hand a chance, but we’re still here, aren’t we?”

Ari breathes in and out, mulling it over, or maybe remembering how she did everything short of mutiny on the SR2 when they first met. “Y-yeah,” she says thickly.

Miri takes a breath and lets it out in a sigh. “And you know what? If Anderson hates the new cabinet color, we can always change it back.”

Artemis snorts. “Fine.” Not that Miranda disagrees about Anderson. But if Commander Artemis Shepard loses faith, so does everyone fighting behind her, and Miranda’s fought so hard to get where she is now. She can deal with the bloody consequences of her lie later. 

* * *

“You sure you want to go out?” Artemis lingers by the counter, leaning over it and bracing herself on her elbows. 

“Ari. I did _not_ buy this dress just to stay _home_.” They had _finally_ finished refurnishing the place and making it their own, and it was _nice_ , but good God, Miranda needed to see something besides that backsplash behind the waterfall before she changed her mind about the color _again_.  

“To be fair--the last time I went out all fancy I destroyed your favorite sushi place, _and_ someone _died._ ”

“Wasn’t Elijah Kahn dirty?” Miranda also braces her elbows on the counter, her face inches away from Artemis’s.

Artemis doesn’t even bother to hide looking down at the windows in the front of her dress. Her next words come out warm and husky. “He’s still dead.”

Miranda runs her fingers down her lover’s forearm. “Like the dress? If you want to keep seeing me in it, you better take me out somewhere _nice_.”

Grinning roguishly, Artemis whispers. “Not like you’re going to be _in_ that dress for _long_.”

“I didn’t even bring anything else to _wear_!” Miranda groans as Artemis starts pulling frying pans out of the cupboards. An apron goes flying towards her face. 

“Wear that.”

Miranda holds out the apron in front of her like it’s been soaked in varren pee. “I don’t cook.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” Artemis decides to help her with it, sliding it over her neck and tying it behind her back. She steps back, admiring her handiwork. “Damn. You look good in that.”

“Do _you_ even know how to cook?”

“I know a few things.” Artemis turns away, pulling out pans and butter and various ingredients Miranda did not even realize Anderson had stocked in this kitchen. No. It’s been too long. Miranda’s girlfriend must have done it herself. When did she have time for grocery shopping? She tosses a dash of salt into the water to make it boil faster and gets to work opening a box of dry pasta. 

“Could we at least go out for drinks after?”

Artemis stares at her, hearing the sharpness in her tone. “Miri?”

Miranda rubs her face, leaning heavily against the counter. “Sue me if I want to go _out_ on a _normal_ date with my girlfriend.” She’s probably making too big a deal of this, and Ari’s sure to notice. Why did she have to make such a scene?

Her lover says nothing, turning off the stove and settling next to her, squeezing her hand. “Did you have a place in mind?” She’s biting her lip, studying Miranda closely, her voice soft and quiet. Miranda almost has to lean closer to hear it. 

“I hear the bar at the Silversun Casino has excellent drinks.”

“Do they have soda?” Ari traces the seams of Miranda’s dress with her finger.

“If they don’t I’m burning the place down.”

Artemis has to muffle her laughter into Miranda’s shoulder after that.

* * *

Long after James Vega has made eggs, and Kaidan Alenko has made coffee, and Artemis and Wrex have fished Grunt out of the shower, and everyone has filed out of the apartment to pack their bags, Miranda lingers. She borrows the downstairs shower (it’s seemingly seen the least amount of action during that raging party), cleaning up with what she hopes is Ari’s shampoo. Miranda wouldn’t feel quite right using Kahlee Sanders’s stuff with everything going on. 

With a pang, Miranda realizes she forgot to check on Ari after the party got going. She seemed...alright? Was she just faking it for her guests? Miranda hurries, probably missing some of the conditioner at the end, but it can’t be helped. Some things are more important than having perfect hair. 

Wrapping a towel around her, Miranda finds Ari sitting by the window, a stack of datapads next to her, turned off. 

“Want to talk about it?” Miranda sits next to her, handing her the mug of coffee that she had originally prepared for herself. 

Artemis says it so quietly Miranda almost doesn’t hear her. “I listened to them. _All_ of them.”

“Oh,” Miranda says softly. “Are you alright?”

Her lover’s face brightens like the sun. “Better.” She reaches over, hand still warm from holding the mug. “Whatever happens. I’m ready.”

“Me too.” Miranda kisses her, ignoring the nagging feeling. Surely this shore leave is just the dream. Only a matter of time before the nightmare follows. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think! No comment is too simple or too short.


	8. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Artemis doing some catching up in the end of all things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Writing the Synthesis Ending and trying to make sense of it has been one of the hardest things I've ever done as a fanfic writer. 
> 
> Get your tissues ready.

Miranda feels strange standing in an Alliance boardroom without her hands in cuffs, but war has a way of making strange bedfellows. Not that Miranda ever really considered the Alliance to be her own _personal_ enemy--she saw them more as red tape in a galaxy _full_ of red tape. She saw herself as a scientist, first a foremost. Sometimes she had to lie or shoot someone to get the materials and conditions she needed for an experiment, but Miranda never saw herself as a criminal, let alone a _terrorist_. 

The way the eyes of the Alliance officers seated at the table track her every move suggests they feel differently. Military types. Maybe Jacob could explain it in a way that made things less obnoxious. He’d say soldiers, especially their officers, like their banners, and their team loyalties. These people will probably never see Miranda as anything but a Cerberus operative. They probably never will enjoy working with Miranda. But right now, they have no choice. ‘

“Our time is short, so I won’t waste yours.” Miranda pulls out her omni-tool, feeling the eyes of the guard behind her boring into her shoulders. She can feel the steam rising from the heat sink ejectors on his rifle, and part of her wonders why he would’ve had to fire it anywhere near this station. Part of her desperately wants to never find out. 

A chorus of chimes ring out from the omni-tools belonging to the people sitting in front of her, followed by a series of gasps. Each alliance officer looks up at Miranda, all of them wide-eyed, and several with their jaws dropped. 

“You’ve all just received files documenting all known Cerberus facilities, operative locations, sympathizer identities, and supply caches. I’m sure you’ll find them useful.” Miranda braces her hands on the table, leaning forward much like the way Artemis does when outlining a battleplan, and says, “In return I ask for your cooperation and assistance in taking out these targets.”

An old man, a major by the looks of it, “And why would we give these to a former Cerberus spy?”

The middle-aged woman next to him, a colonel, nods. “Why wouldn’t we just arrest you?”

Miranda Lawson’s known for her carefully placed control, but her voice shakes with fury as she replies, “You can’t afford to.”

Only the hum of the space station answers her. 

“You’re already fighting one war against the Reapers, spending far more resources than you can replenish.” Miranda argues. “Do you honestly think you have time to fight one against Cerberus?”

“We already have a spectre--”

“Commander Shepard has her hands full and could use a bloody _break_.” Colonel Sandberg blanches at the mention of Artemis’s name. Honestly, did they really think the hero’s exploits were _secret_? She’s probably gone too far, but Miranda isn’t used to being told _no_. “Send me after them and you’ll win personnel, strategic bases of operations, intel, and resources you won’t find anywhere else.” If only Artemis could see her now. 

“Fine. But one wrong move and we’re sending you to the highest security prison we have to offer.”

Miranda’s omni-tool chimes with the security clearance she requested, regardless, and she smiles. “You wouldn’t be able to catch me.” Her heel clicks echo as she walks out. 

* * *

The Cerberus assault trooper forgets how to fire. “Miranda?” One of his fellow operatives shouts at him to shoot or to get out of the way. 

“That’s Miss Lawson to you, asshole.” Miranda shoots him in the head. Whoever he was, he drops backward like a felled tree. 

“Friend of yours?” Wong sidesteps the body, eyeing Miranda warily.

“ _Former_ coworker. Is this going to be a problem?” Miranda ducks into cover, firing at their remaining enemies. 

“Shooting people? No ma’am.”

“ _Miss_ Lawson. And I meant my _former_ association with Cerberus.”

“Can I answer this when we’re not dodging bullets ma--Miss Lawson?”

“Fine, fine.” Miranda leads them deeper into the base, using her biotics and her pistol to clear the way. Per usual, Cerberus has hidden the data in a random corner, meaning they must clear out the goons one by one until the building’s empty. Most of the time, the soldiers have control chips embedded in their brains, aiding the indoctrination (Miranda grimaces at the thought), and preventing them from ever turning on their employer. By the time they’re done Miranda will have too much blood on her uniform and not enough amo.

“No wait! Don’t shoot!” But there are exceptions. 

Underneath a row of desks, Miranda finds a scientist, still in her lab coat, shaking and staring up at her with dark circles under her eyes. Cerberus always pushed its employees hard, but this? “You alright?”

“Don’t hurt me!” The scientist backs up further, but not much, as the desk backing blocks her escape. 

Miranda blinks, wondering at her reaction, then Wong coughs and elbows her side. Oh, right. Pistol--still pointed at her face. Lowering her gun, Miranda kneels, whispering softly. “We’re not here to hurt you. We could use your help. I’m Miranda Lawson.”

Instead of calming at the mention of her name, the scientist’s voice shakes as she replies. “The Illusive Man sent you after me?”

“What? No! I don’t work for him anymore.” The scientist doesn’t move, so Miranda steps back, gesturing at the soldiers accompanying her. “I’m working with the Alliance.”

Studying each of them slowly, the scientist pokes her head out from under the desk. “Dr. Lana Palmer.”

“Alliance Special Forces, 103rd Division, 1st and 2nd Lieutenants Molina and Mendez, at your service, ma’am.”

Dr. Palmer takes Mendez’s hand and stands up, wobbling on her stiff legs. “What on earth do you need _my_ help for?”

“We need the information Cerberus has stored on their servers here. Can you lead us to it?”

She eyes each of them in turn. “Can you get me off this rock?” 

Before the soldiers can answer, Miranda asks “How many of you are there?”

Dr. Palmer rolls her eyes, “Do you see anyone else here?”

Miranda almost comments on her attitude, but then she realizes she’s talking to a mirror of herself two years prior. Of course, Miranda wouldn’t be the one hiding under a desk--too easy to get trapped in there. Apparently, Dr. Palmer doesn’t get much enemy interference in her lab, as she gets in Miranda’s way more often than not. 

“Get down!” Miranda has to stop herself from pulling Dr. Palmer down biotically. It wouldn’t serve to bruise or _break_ her knees. She shoves her down instead, with one hand, while firing her pistol with the other. Whatever this base contains, Cerberus deems it important enough to fill the place with goons. 

Her stomach growls and her muscles ache by the time they reach the terminal they seek. Dr. Palmer keys in her handprint and scans her retinae, murmuring that Cerberus will kill her anyway. Miranda assures her that won’t happen, but she stands behind Palmer and scans her for explosive implants just in case. 

The file’s still encrypted, but Miranda can hack into anything. Wong whistles, his breath on Miranda’s shoulder. 

Cerberus cells operate independently, with no knowledge of each other. Or, at least, they used to. 

But it seems The Reapers have had more influence on the Illusive Man’s operations than he’s willing to admit. 

On the terminal, the three of them see a distress beacon--a signal sent to all connected cells. Of course, the sender wouldn’t know which cells would see it or where, but Miranda and her team can trace it back to the sender. 

The message itself comes as no surprise to Miranda. Nor do the repeated messages from the other cells. 

Shepard’s close to victory. The entire Reaper hive mind can sense it. 

* * *

It’s when they’re back in the shuttle, on the way back to the frigate that houses them on this mission, that Miranda gets a ping on her omni-tool. This particular tone means only one thing:

A vid call from Commander Artemis Gaia Shepard. 

Artemis never calls Miranda unannounced. As the heads turn around her to watch the flashing light, Miranda does her best to compose herself. _You’re overreacting, Miranda. It’s probably nothing._ Taking a deep breath, Miranda answers the call. 

Her lover’s grave expression does nothing to sooth her fears. “Miranda.”

“Shepard,” Miranda says quickly. “This isn’t a private call.” A secure channel, the _most_ secure aside from quantum entanglement, but she can’t do anything to block out the listening ears. At least they pretend to look at their own omni tools, clear their weapons, or attend to their wounds. No one is fooled by their charade. “Could I call you back?”

Artemis shakes her head, and Miranda’s poor heart beats that much faster. “There’s no time.”

Miranda’s voice wavers despite itself, and she drops all professional pretense. “Artemis.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shepard’s lips move several times, but no words come out. The look tells Miranda everything she needs to know before Shepard can voice it. “We made it to Earth.”

Heat flares through Miranda’s chest. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me this is goodbye. You’ve survived more than one suicide mission. Hell, Artemis. You beat a reaper on _foot_.”

It’s hard to tell through the com link, but it looks like water brims at the edge of Artemis’s eyes. “This is different.” Miranda barely hears her over the roar of gun fire and soldiers shouting. “I want you to be prepared.”

Saying goodbye isn’t the worst part--it’s seeing Artemis trying to hold it together and failing horribly. It’s not being able to reach through that projection and give her a hug. The twenty-second century can go to hell--goodbyes weren’t meant to be delivered this way. 

Miranda’s so furious at their circumstances, she can’t say a word. Artemis continues for her. “I need you to be strong, Miranda. Oriana needs you.”

“I love you, Artemis.” Miranda whispers, finally, just as the com link starts to cut out. “Please don’t give up. Not yet.”

* * *

The silence that follows the green flash fills Miranda with dread. Almost immediately she asks the universe, _What did you do, Shepard?_ As if she already knows Artemis is involved, somehow. Any thoughts as to _why_ Miranda knows? Not possible. Her brain feels like someone shut it down and rebooted it in safe mode. It takes all day just to eat, bathe, and sleep. 

On the third day, Miranda asks herself in the shower, _Is this what it feels like to be indoctrinated?_

It’s not just Miranda’s own thoughts that answer her question. It’s the entire galaxy speaking _in her mind_. 

Miranda’s knees crumble with the brunt of it, and she hits her head on the shower stall on her way down. _What in bloody hell_. 

 _You too, huh?_  

The voice, male, exhausted, and likely Turian, answers her. It’s not anyone Miranda knows. That’s for certain. She isn’t sure whether that’s a good thing or not. 

 _Get out of my head,_ she snaps as her body threatens to spew the bile from her empty stomach. 

_I’d tell you the same thing, but it’s not possible._

Then their conversation is drowned out by the sound of a billion midnight alarms--as the power goes out and comes back on all at once. But neither Miranda nor her Turian mind-mate hear them through their ears. The sound comes from within. Miranda hears hours of screams inside her brain, overwhelmed minds with no chance of escape. If only Miranda knew how to shut it off. If only it were a formula she could solve. 

_Holy hell._

The numbers, letters, and symbols unfurl inside Miranda’s mind, as if they’re floating in the air in front of her. She solves the formulas one by one, and the alarms, screams, and other alerts slowly die off. Miranda spends hours solving them until she passes out. 

Days, weeks, if not months, pass like this, and slowly Miranda and some of the others teach themselves binary code. This isn’t strange at all to her, until she realizes she’s communicating with computers, the Geth, the bloody _Reapers_ without a translator. Or maybe she unlocked a translation program?

 _Do organics not eat?_ One unit asks her when she heaves in frustration. The geth unit has a point. Miranda can’t remember the last time she’s eaten. Apparently, her body’s been screaming at her for hours, if not days, but who can eat when the entire galaxy is up for the sensing? 

 _Your sensors are malfunctioning. We recommend caloric intake. Organic lifeforms require caloric intake._ After Miranda rummages around in the frigate’s fridge, she finds something that has not rotted in the aftermath of The Green Light. 

_Does it taste high in value?_

Miranda blinks. _It’s yogurt._

The unit parses the information, still struggling to find the appropriate word. _Does it result in positive value?_

“You’re asking if the yogurt tastes good?”

 _Good._ The platform, and its neighboring platforms parse over the word good several times in milliseconds, processing this new byte of data. _We accept your inquiry. But we do not know the solution._

Miranda laughs to herself. If only Artemis were here to see this. The pain hits her like a clench in the chest. In all the voices Miranda has heard since The Green Light, she has not heard the one belonging to her lover. 

_Given name, Artemis? Surname?_

“Shepard,” Miranda says automatically. 

_We have five results. Narrow search?_

Miranda’s heart hammers in her chest. _Middle name Gaia._

_1 result._

Forgetting how to breath, Miranda whispers. _Where?_

_Error. Platform Artemis Gaia Shepard not available._

“What do you mean, not available?” Miranda snaps. Wong and the others turn and look at her in annoyance, for the first time since it happened. Apparently, her outburst interfered with whatever they had been silently computing for the past…whatever. Time seems irrelevant when she’s connected to so many minds, except for the mind she wants. 

“Is Artemis Gaia Shepard alive?” Miranda asks, fearing the answer.

_Error._

“What do you mean, ‘error?’ Either she’s alive or she isn’t.”

Her brain doesn’t parse the kilobytes of data that flurry in her brain, but something about the messy pattern suggests the Geth equivalent of profanity. _Establish parameters for “life.”_

Miranda reels at that notion. Funny, considering defining viability defined much of her work in the Lazarus Project. She seeks the same detachment when she asks her next question, but Miranda can’t help but notice the tremor in her voice. Shepard means so much more to her now. “Does Artemis Gaia Shepard have a pulse?”

_Negative._

“Then how in bloody hell is she _alive_ , by any definition of the word?”

_Organics and synthetics define life differently, Miranda Lawson._

“So, she’s alive according to a synthetic definition, but not an organic one.” Miranda says the words out loud, but they make carry no meaning. No meaning that makes any sense. 

_Affirmative._

But what is the synthetic definition of life? The answer hits Miranda like a ton of bricks. 

What distinguishes virtual and artificial intelligence? _Consciousness._

Miranda finds it difficult to breathe, but she manages to ask, “And where may I find the consciousness of Artemis Gaia Shepard?”

  
  



End file.
